Blood's Tears
by mysticVigil
Summary: An intermingled Takari.Yakari about which bond is stronger... blood or water. Rated for language, adult situations, harsh topics. Ch VI 09.23.05 After taking forever. Reconciliations abound. But the end is not near. Lucky you.
1. And It All Started With a Premonition

Disclaimer – I don't own Digimon; they Digimon and everything related belong to Toei Animation, Saban, and FOX Kids, among others. I am writing this fic for mine and others' entertainment, and no profit is being made off of it. Please don't sue.

Summary: An intermingled Takari/Yakari about which bond is stronger - blood or water. Rated for language, (upcoming) adult situations, and harsh topics- mature audiences only.

A/N – The requested Yakari for Lala, although I must admit I threw in a _lot_ of Takari, one-sided Daikari, Kenyako, Sorato, Taiora (of course), some Daisuke/Takeru friendly bonding (no romance there), and a teeny, tiny bit of Koumi.

Dedicated to Lala and my wonderful beta, the DragonMistress. Enjoy!

Started: 8.56P; 02.06.01

Finished: 9.19P; 02.07.01

**Blood's Tears**

_"And It Started With a Premonition…"_

Laden down with books, his own and his best friend's, Takeru Takaishi crossed the busy street to the apartment on the other side. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach; he wasn't supposed to be the one who had the premonitions, but somehow he knew something horrible was going to happen soon. Putting all perturbed feelings aside, he opened the glass doors to the small foyer, pressed the buttons for her floor, and waited for the elevator.

As he was waiting he shifted the thick textbooks from the crook of his right arm to the crook of his left, and adjusted the shoulder strap of his backpack. Usually he didn't have these many books; but this week was different, for he was not carrying only his own, but also Hikari Yagami's. She had been absent from school for the last few days, and he couldn't say he didn't miss her cheerfulness on the long lonely walks home from school at night. Being best friends and all, Takeru had naturally offered to bring her books for homework, and she agreed, not wanting to miss any schoolwork if she could avoid doing so.

Despite her missing from class, Takeru had been having a good week in school. But the minute he stepped into her apartment every day the unsettling feeling would hit him full blast. He wasn't sure why, but today it was stronger than ever, and he wasn't even in her doorway yet.

He plastered a fake smile on his face, and raised a closed fist to knock on the door; to do this he had to put down the pile of books he was carrying. But before he had gotten a chance to so much as tap the door, it opened, revealing Taichi, Hikari's older brother. Takeru couldn't help but notice Taichi's frown on his normally smiling face, and the dull brown coloring to his usually lighted, deep chocolate eyes.

"Takeru," he said in a monotone, almost as if he expected to find the sixteen-year-old boy getting ready to knock on the front door. "Ossu. Please come in." Though this was meant as a greeting, Takeru couldn't help but think that Taichi would have rather set greetings aside and dealt with them later because of the way he pulled him into the apartment and shut the door behind him, making sure it was closed firmly. Takeru and Hikari's books were still outside the door, but Takeru sensed that Taichi was going to tell him something of great importance, and didn't go back for the books. Instead he followed him wordlessly to the closed door of Hikari's bedroom.

"She's been waiting all day to see you, Takeru," Taichi told him. "She has something very important to tell you… Not necessarily a good thing, but she has to tell you."

Takeru replied shortly, "Aa, shall I go in now?" Taichi nodded his head, and turned to leave. Takeru however knocked on the wood door, and waited for an answer. When a weak, 'come in' was heard he twisted the knob and peeked in the door.

"Ohayoo, 'Kari-chan," Takeru greeted, stepping fully into Hikari's dimly lit bedroom and closing the door behind him. Looking around it seemed as if this wasn't her room at all; all the shades were drawn – only a faint lamplight in the corner left the room _dark_, and piles of papers were laying, untouched, on her desk, when they were always usually so neat; Takeru had taught her to be tidy, much like himself. Had he not known better, he would have thought there was no one in the room; but, straining his eyes, he saw a small figure lying in the bed, covers pulled up to her chin.

"Konnichi wa, T'keru-chan," Hikari replied, mumbling more to her bed sheets than to him, keeping her eyes covered so he couldn't see them. He just screwed his face into a puzzled look and took a seat by her bedside.

"I brought you your homework… There's not a lot, but I figured you'd need the books for other assignments… They're outside the apartment door; I would have brought them in but Taichi pulled me into the apartment so quickly – He said you had something important to tell me?"

Hikari dodged his question with a small, "Doomo… Doomo arigatoo gozaimasu." This time she wasn't trying to hide her face in her blankets, but was busying herself with the lace on her comforter.

Takeru closed his hand over hers. "Doo Itashimashite… No problem." He noticed her quiver at his touch, despite how slight it was. Looking at her face he realized silent tears were spilling over, for no reason at all. "'Kari? What's wrong?"

She hastily brushed the tears away with her free hand, trying to crack a smile. "Nothing, nothing at all. Gomen. It's just you're so nice… So kind and caring. And look at me…" The tears started to spill again, this time much more freely.

Shocked was he, to say the least. He hadn't expected this at all… What was wrong with her? "Hikari, please tell me. I can't help you if you don't tell me the problem…" He took her close in a hug, as she was still shaking, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and cried into his shirt.

After a few minutes of this she pulled away. "Takeru, I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay." He smiled and wiped her tears off, still clutching one of her hands in his. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I'd really like to know what's wrong… I want to help you Hikari-chan."

"No, you have a right to know…" For a minute the two pairs of eyes connected… Hikari's dark russet, mysterious despite the simplicity, and usually sparkling and happy, though today filled with sadness and rue; Takeru's cavernous blue, deeper than the deepest ocean, and filled with compassion and concern, always steady and unwavering, even in the toughest of times.

"Takeru, it's between Yamato and I-" for some unknown reason his stomach took a plunge "-but you should really know too. You are my best friend, after all, and his brother at that. Technically, you'll be related to my baby…"

This time Takeru's eyes weren't steady at all, and for the perhaps the first time in his life he felt confused and helpless at the same time, as if he were drowning. "I don't- I don't understand what you're saying…"

He felt like this only one other time in his life, when he was oh-so-little and his parents said they were getting their divorce. Only once before in his life had he felt this lost… He felt the same stab of pain; he felt the same hot tears springing to his eyes. "I didn't think you would, but it's really simple…" Her eyes, filled with sympathy for what she was about to say, bore holes into his skull… He loosened his grip on her hands. "Takeru- God, is this hard to say… Takeru, I'm…" He wanted to throw his hands over his ears like he did when he was little and didn't want to hear what his parents had to say. But he wasn't little anymore, and he had to listen to this, no matter how much hurt it caused him.

"I'm pregnant."

And those two measly, insignificant words froze time for him.


	2. Bleeding Heart

Begun: 4.30P; 04.07.01

Finished: 6.17P; 04.07.01

_"Bleeding Heart"_

When Takeru was a little boy he always felt small and insignificant; Yamato always overshadowed him, and even when his parents got divorced he never took the spotlight. His parents barely noticed him, unless he came crying with a bruised knee, or a bleeding lip. Then they would help him, but still he felt that if they had just been there in the first place he wouldn't have gotten hurt. If they had only prevented the mishaps they wouldn't have had to comfort him, wipe away his tears, and tend to his injuries.

Somehow Takeru knew that his mother couldn't have prevented this, even if she had always been there for him. She couldn't fix these accidents like she could the bruised knee or bleeding lip; his bruised hope and bleeding heart were untouchable.

And Takeru had never felt as outshined as he did in that moment; he felt small, weak, and extremely vulnerable, like anything he said or did now could hurt him. And he felt like Yamato had outdone him yet again, and he had gotten the only thing Takeru had ever really wanted in life: Hikari's love.

It wasn't fair, it really wasn't. He had never asked for much in his life; sure, there were the little things when he was only a tiny child, like the toys and candy bars that he would occasionally beg for at supermarkets and department stores. But really, in the whole scheme of things, that wasn't much. Besides, hadn't Yamato always gotten what he asked for, compared to his little brother, who seldom got anything of importance?

When he was little, Takeru had wanted toys and candy; Yamato had gotten that. When he got older, Takeru wanted to be the golden child; yet Yamato, with his singing ability and gift for playing the guitar, had been the child to shine. And now, when he was sixteen, Takeru had wanted more than anything for Hikari, his best friend, to love him; but Yamato had something he didn't, or just had a knack for getting anything he wanted, because he was with Hikari, and Takeru was left out.

Maybe it wasn't a good kind of being with Hikari – after all, she was pregnant at sixteen with his baby, and it was sure to be rough for both her and Yamato from then on – but _still_…

It was unduly iniquitous.

That moment, Takeru was jolted from his thoughts of what was unfair in life and what wasn't; "Takeru," Hikari spoke. "Gomen… sumimasen."

For the first time, Takeru noticed that he had tears in his eyes; they clouded his vision, and Hikari's image was no more than the brown of her hair and eyes, the blue of her nightgown, and the soft, fair peach of her skin blended together, like a horrible watercolor where the paint ran together. Running his hand across his eyes cleared it some, but nothing was completely stopping the crystal orbs from running down his cheeks and dripping on the bedspread. He was relieved to see that she, too, was sobbing, her face blotchy, and her voice catching in her throat.

"Hikari…" He didn't know what to say. Usually he could tell her anything was going to be all right… Yet he couldn't do so now. To tell her everything was all right would be telling her a lie, and he had sworn to himself that he would never, ever lie to his best friend, at all costs.

Nothing would ever be all right again, he decided. Everything would be different, and, to him, this kind of different was bad. He was sure she thought of it has a bad kind of different too, and when Yamato found out he would be none too pleased. Takeru was sure this was disastrous to everyone… Nothing would ever be the same again.

"Takeru, please just say something. Please?" She squeezed his hand, and he realized that he was still holding hers. Why was he still holding her hand? Just being near her was so painful… And holding her hand was killing him. Dropping it, he shook his head.

"I- I can't. There's n-nothing _t-to_ say." Slowly, gently, he got up from her bed, voice wavering as the tears continued to run down his cheeks like two miniature waterfalls.

"Don't be like that, Takeru. Please, just say _something_…"

He just started shaking his head again, as he made his way to the door. He wasn't trying to look at her face; instead, his blue eyes were fixated on her stomach. It seemed the same as ever, like nothing was going to change it. But soon her stomach would shape, and change, as would both their lives.

Slowly turning the knob of the door, he happened to catch a glimpse of the look in her brown eyes. They weren't exactly warm, but seemed velvety soft, and consoling. They did lack her usual 'sparkle' but he decided that it wasn't totally her fault; the stress of the _baby _and telling everyone about it must have stolen the twinkle, or driven it away. Her eyes locked onto his for a moment, seemingly begging him to say _something_, anything at all, but he averted his by bowing his head.

Stepping out the door silently, with not another word, he was gone. He had meant to say something about how hurt he was, and how much this was killing him inside, but the tears got stuck in his throat. The harder he tried to force them out, the more he cried, and he couldn't stand it. Letting himself out the apartment door he could hear Hikari's sobs of "Please Takeru, understand," but he didn't turn around and go back, and she didn't follow him.

Takeru's sneakers pounded on the asphalt as he ran home in the twilight, the streets bathed in light only by the occasional pools or orange glow from the dim streetlights. Panting from having run across town in under twenty minutes, he dashed fast as he possibly could up the stairs to his apartment. His cries diminished gradually as he pulled his house key from his pocket and jammed it in the lock, twisting it to the right. The door swung open and he made his way carefully inside, keeping watch for his mother. He didn't want her to see him crying and carrying on this way.

But to his relief, he found a note in her familiar script saying she was at a dinner meeting and wouldn't be home until at least nine o'clock. By this time his eyes were, for the most part, dry, and, unwilling to shed more tears, he sunk into an armchair in front of the television.

Seizing the remote, he flicked channels. Only he couldn't find anything on; the slightest thing reminded him of Hikari-chan; soap operas were his life, war documentaries were a description of his battle, and comedies were a reminder of the good times with Hikari that were no more. Before he could begin to cry again he noiselessly clicked the power button on the remote, turning off the TV, complete darkness now washing over the partially lit living room. There he sat for several moments, not thinking, not doing anything but sitting.

The fake tranquility was interrupted not a minute later by the ringing of the phone; being the only one home, Takeru would have to answer it. He didn't want to talk to anyone the way he was feeling, and pleaded with the phone to stop the incessant sound, but it kept going, completely ignoring what _he_ wanted. It was as if life was pushing against him in his sullen state. Reaching out with a sigh, Takeru picked up the receiver, and, cradling it between his ear and shoulder, spoke with the politeness and formality that he could muster, though he wasn't feeling polite _or_ formal, "Konban wa, Takaishi residence."

"Ossu!" came the common voice on the other end. "Otooto-chan, why so glum?"

Takeru recognized the unusually cheerful voice as his brother's, and his heart hardened. How dare Yamato speak to him that civilly and happily, when he had made his brother's life miserable, a living hell? It seemed sardonic in a way; was he just doing this to mock him? Surely Hikari had told him about the baby; she would tell the father before she told the uncle, right?

"How _dare_ you?" he hissed, his voice dripping acid. "How _dare_ you talk to me like that? You- you… How can you live with yourself?"

"What are you talking about?" Takeru heard the confusion and bewilderment in his brother's voice, and could almost picture the look on his face. His eyes would be unreadable, as they always were. His brow would be furrowed; his eyebrows meeting in the middle, pushed together by the faint frown creasing his forehead, yet not showing on his lips. Instead, his lips would be curled in a rare half-smile, between amusement at his brother's sudden anger and perplexity at what he was accusing him of.

Then it dawned to him; Yamato was on tour in Europe, and Hikari didn't know the places he was stopping at. How could she have told him about the baby?

She had probably found out where he was touring. It wasn't that hard actually… All she had to do was ask his parents, or look on the Internet. Yes, he decided, that was what she did. She had found out and told Yamato, and now he was playing dumb so he wouldn't get in trouble with his brother.

"You _know_ what I'm talking about!" There was silence on the other end of the line, as if Yamato was still puzzled. "You hurt 'Kari, dammit!" He didn't think Hikari was all to innocent either, but it was a lot easier defending her than his brother… After all, he was angrier with Yamato than Hikari. She hadn't stolen away the affections of the only person he had ever wanted love from, even if she hadn't granted him them.

"Takeru! Calm down… How did I hurt Hikari, when I'm not even home?" Yamato still sounded calm and level, which Takeru couldn't stand.

And suddenly, the conversation, which Takeru provoked, seemed to be going nowhere. Takeru couldn't tell Yamato about the baby – tactfully, that is – and Yamato _still_ had no clue what he was talking about and accusing him of.

"Look, Yamato, gomen… I didn't mean to be like that. But you…" Takeru's eyes started to water once again, thinking about his best friend. "And Hikari, she…" The tears started to fall now. "And you both…" Takeru sobbed into the phone again, his anger fading as quickly as it came. "Gomen nasai…"

"Oh Takeru…" It was as if there were a rift in time, and Takeru was back to being the small eight-year-old he once was, and Yamato was the eleven-year-old trying to calm the bawling child. Takeru had been wrong before; there was one person who could heal the bleeding heart; it was his brother, his niisan, but now he couldn't help him… He was miles away, he was part of the problem, and he couldn't hug him and make it all better like he used to do when they were little. Takeru was on his own now, no matter how much he wanted to believe his brother was his ally; they were on opposite sides of the playing field, and Takeru got the impression that he was losing horribly.

"Just please tell me what's wrong… I want to help my baby brother. I love you." Flashbacks of himself and Hikari flooded Takeru's mind, but he pushed them aside.

"And I love Hikari Yamato! You _know_ that! And still you… You betrayed me!"

"Whoa Takeru… Please calm down. I didn't know you loved Hikari."

Takeru was sure this was a lie. How could he not know, when he was his brother? They shared everything…and even if they didn't share it, it was like they did. It was just that _way_ between the two brothers – they always knew what the other was thinking, and how the other felt. And it was an unwritten, unspoken law that one would never, ever betray the other. At least that was what Takeru thought… But obviously that wasn't true, because he couldn't see how Yamato felt about Hikari, until just that night, and Yamato couldn't see how Takeru felt.

"I _did _love her… I _do_! We're best friends Yamato! How could I _not_ love her?" There was that silence again. Takeru wanted desperately to fill it; it was so uneasy and tedious. But he didn't know what to say.

Luckily, Yamato spoke. "Takeru, I'm- sorry, but what does this have to do with me? I mean, this whole thing with you being mad at me, it can't be just because I don't know you inside and out, can it?" Takeru could almost hear his brother smiling.

In a way Yamato was right; he wasn't supposed to know his brother inside and out – Takeru didn't know his brother that way – and anyway, that's what soul mates were for. But it _did_ have something to do with Yamato anyway – a big something.

"You took Hikari from me!" Again, he could almost hear the puzzled pause – and then, in the next instant, everything must have made sense to him, because Takeru heard him gasp. "So you _do_ know what you did!"

"Of course I know… But how did you find out?"

"Hikari told me," Takeru said matter-of-factly.

"Oh T'K, I'm so, so sorry… It was only a one-time thing… And Hikari said she was going to keep it a secret… You weren't supposed to find out…" Now Takeru was stunned. How did they suppose they were going to keep a baby a secret?

He asked him this much. "And how _exactly_ were you supposed to keep a _baby_ a secret!" he practically shrieked. Pounding from the apartment above told him he'd better keep his voice quieter. "It's _not_ easy to hide a baby and keep it a secret."

"_What_?" Yamato lowered his voice to a whisper. "What do you _mean_, keep a baby a secret? What baby?"

"She didn't tell you?" There was silence on the other end of the phone, and Takeru gulped. He was in big trouble now. He couldn't continue with this… He had let down Hikari, and the only way to get out of this conversation was to lie to Yamato… Which he couldn't do.

"No…" Yamato replied calmly, yet his voice was cold. "She hasn't told me about the baby…"

"Well…"

"Listen, I think I know what went on. It's all silly – I got Hikari pregnant! And you're mad at me," his voice was sarcastic now, "because I unintentionally 'hurt' your best friend…"

Takeru answered cautiously. "Right…"

"Well listen to me. It was as much her fault as mine. I don't know the details, and I don't want to know. She's on her _own_! It wasn't my fault!" Takeru was ready to disagree, but Yamato continued on quickly. "And you're supposed to be my brother! You're supposed to be loyal to me… Whatever happened to that?"

This was too much for Takeru. Here his brother was, betraying two friends with one stone, and he was trying to turn the tables and make Takeru look like the bad guy. Well it wasn't going to work!

"They got hurt by the brother they were supposed to be loyal to, that's what! Don't you see; you're the one at fault here, not me!" More pounding from the apartment told him to lower his voice once again.

"Look Takeru," his brother practically hissed, "you don't know what happened. It's not all me; it's mostly her. Ask her if you want to know what really happened, because _I'm_ not going to tell you! We were in the wrong places at the wrong time, as far as I'm concerned. As for the baby, I don't care what she does with it, but I'm not going to help her!"

"But Yamato, she needs the help-" He didn't get the chance to finish.

"There you go again! It's all for Hikari, isn't it? Some brother you turned out to be… You don't even _try_ to see my side of the story! Look, as far as I'm concerned, I don't have a girlfriend, or a kid, and I don't have a _brother_!" Takeru gasped. "I've always tried to do what's best for _you_, and what thanks do I get in return? You take _her_ side! If you were really my brother, you'd at least _try_ to understand. Until you do, don't call me. I won't call you, and I won't call Hikari either. I'm out of the picture; maybe if you love Hikari so much you can help her, but I'm alone."

With that final word he hung up, probably too angry to go on. Takeru sat, speechless, in his chair in the dark, just staring at the phone he held. Slowly, delicately, he replaced the receiver and pulled his knees up to his chest, his brother's words replaying over and over in his head.

"I'm out of the picture; maybe if you love Hikari so much you can help her, but I'm alone."

Tears filled his eyes, and then fell in salty tracks down his cheeks, soaking the sleeve of his shirt. It finally sunk in; his brother had been his best friend for all these years, and with one mistake he and Takeru were broken up. Takeru choose to side with the defenseless, rather than the correct. And at the same time, he turned on not only his brother, but Hikari too, when he ran away from her.

And he knew now – there was no more sensitive Yamato to hug him and tell him it was all right, there was no niisan to bandage his knee, or take care of him. _"…And I don't have a _brother_!"_ Yamato had said it himself. He didn't have a brother anymore. There was no one to help ease his pain, and stop his heart from bleeding so. There was no 'Matt-chan.

And he was already lost.

"I can't help Hikari, can't you see, Yamato?" he whispered. "I can't love her… because I can't even love my brother. He disappeared," he continued, speaking into the air, staring straight ahead. "And he's never coming back, never.

"I'm alone too, 'Matt."

_-_

Takeru awoke with a jolt, and a stab of pain in his neck from having slept with his head cradled uncomfortably on his knees. He stared at his watch for a minute, watching the second hand sweep around in a circle, until it finally registered the time in his brain. It was as if his brain were working in slow motion.

6:17, it read. Only about an hour, maybe an hour and a half at the most since he had fallen asleep after his 'talk' with Yamato. A stabbing pain came to his chest as he recalled what Yamato had said, "_And I don't have a _brother_!"_ Takeru had done it this time; he had lost his brother, and one of his best friends. Well, he wasn't going to make the same mistake again. Even though she was at fault, Takeru didn't want to lose Hikari as well.

He picked up the telephone and put it to his ear, dialing a familiar number. One, two, three rings… It didn't seem as if anyone was going to answer. Right before he was going to put the receiver in the cradle and hang his head in defeat there was a click on the other end, and a girl's voice spoke softly.

"Yagami Hikari speaking."

"Hikari?" His voice caught in his throat, but he swallowed and continued. "It's Takeru."

"Oh…." She trailed off, not saying anything else.

"Look," he continued, "I'm very sorry… It was all my fault…"

"No…"

"Yes, it was. Um…" he knew what he wanted to say, but it was hard to say over the phone. He wanted to ask about what happened, ask about the baby and how she would be, maybe even tell her about Yamato… But he couldn't do so over the telephone.

"Can you meet me at the park?" He didn't know where these words came from, but they seemed like good ones.

"Now? … I guess so. Um, where?" Her voice stayed as soft as it was when she first picked up the phone, never rising a bit, and lacking emotion.

"By the bench? The red one in the center of the park, under the willow tree?"

"Sure… I'll see you there…"

"Yeah, see you," he replied, as she hung up her extension. He just stared at the phone for as moment, but then got up and grabbed his keys. Conveniently forgetting to leave a note for his mother, he locked the door and walked down the stairs and out the door.

It was already dark, even at only six-thirty, being late October. The wind blew a bit, though not much, and his tech vest was the perfect weight. Pulling his fisherman's hat lower down over his ears and jamming his hands in his pockets, he quickened his pace, eager yet apathetic at the same time to meet with his friend.

The walk to the park was a short one, it being located between his and Hikari's houses, and he got there quickly, around seven. He knew exactly where to go, and made his way through couples strolling about and late joggers until he was at the weeping willow. Its branches were long, sad and droopy, touching the ground and completely hiding the bench that sat by the water. But he knew the bench was in there, with Hikari, and he pushed aside the branches and let them fall behind him, covering him.

He cleared his throat, and the sixteen-year-old already there looked up at him with her sad eyes. "Ossu Hikari," he whispered softly, taking a seat beside her. She immediately bowed her head from him, not letting him see the tears that were gathered in pools in her eyes.

"Oh Takeru…" her shoulders bobbed a bit as she started to cry, and she let her hair hide her face. "I'm sorry…" He opened his arms, and she gratefully fell into them, sobbing into his shoulder as she had done earlier that day.

"Shhh… It's okay." He wasn't lying to her… not really. It _was_ okay, for the moment at least, since they were together; he was there to protect her and comfort her, and that was okay. "You don't have to say you're sorry."

"Yes, yes I do," she hiccoughed, her face still buried in his shoulder.

"No, I already know how sorry you are… That's all I need."

"Thank you Takeru. For understanding." He was shocked at this statement; Yamato had said he couldn't, and refused to, understand _him_, yet here he understood Hikari perfectly. As he held her in his arms he felt a pang of guilt for not being sympathetic of Yamato, but he pushed it aside.

"Of course Hikari… Anything for you." Even though her face was buried in his shirt, he could tell she was smiling. "Hikari… Can I ask you something?"

"Um, um… Sure," she finally replied.

"Why Yamato?" Hikari sighed, and for a minute Takeru thought she wasn't going to answer him. But instead she sat up straight and looked him in the eyes. He noticed for the first time the bluish-purple bags under her eyes, probably from lack of sleep. Even though she was only sixteen, she suddenly looked much, much older, and very serious.

"Oh Takeru… I don't know. We were just in the right – or should I say wrong? – places at the time. I was feeling down and I needed someone to cheer me up… And I went to your house, but Yamato was there, and not you." Takeru remembered that day about a month ago – he had been at a basketball game, the game that brought his team to the finals. When he had gotten home Yamato had told him Hikari had dropped by, but he had never said anything else. Oh, how he would have given anything, even the finals, to have been home and able to prevent this whole mess.

"Anyway, Yamato was there. And I don't know exactly how it happened… I don't know. But I wish he would come home." Hikari buried her face in his shirt again, and curled up next to him. She looked so innocent and vulnerable… He didn't have the heart to tell her about his conversation with Yamato. Instead, he just put his arms around her.

"Well, don't worry. I'll always be here for you," was what he said instead.

"Thanks… Takeru?"

"Yeah?"

"I wanna tell you…" Hikari yawned and went on sleepily, "That you're my best friend."

Takeru smiled down at the small girl in his arms. With her eyes closed she looked like a delicate angel, and Takeru couldn't resist ducking his head and kissing her on the forehead. "You're my best friend too, Hikari-chan." Maybe Takeru expected some sort of reply – a nod, a smile, something – but all he heard was the steady breathing of the now-asleep girl. Smiling, Takeru pulled his hat down over his eyes and closed them, resting his chin on Hikari's head. And he fell asleep himself.


	3. Romeo and Juliet

Begun: 06.19.01

Finished: 12.15.01

_"__Romeo and __Juliet__"_

Full moon shining brightly and stars twinkling fiercely overhead in the dark velvet sky, ten thirty crept up quickly on the two teenagers sleeping under a weeping willow in the middle of Odaiba's largest park. They were completely hidden under the drooping branches of the ancient tree, and didn't make a noise as they slept peacefully in each other's arms.

In fact, they probably would have slept on through the night and even the morning if it weren't for the chilly October breeze that blew lightly every so often, making ripples in the frigid lake water, and moving the willow branches now and then, making them wave like ghostly hands. When one of the leaves from these branches landed gently on the boy's cheek, he reached a hand up lazily to brush it away, stretching out his arm that had cradled his head for the last three hours, and slightly changed his comfortable position. As he did so, he happened to glance casually at his watch.

Ten-thirty. At first he wasn't alarmed; instead of fully waking he replaced his chin on the head of his friend and shut his eyes again. But in the next moment he jerked his head up, blinking furiously to clear his blurred vision.

His curfew was ten o'clock, and his mother expected him to return home by then. And he knew Hikari had been due home long before him.

But still… He didn't want to move. Hikari was curled up next to him, her head against his chest, her breathing deep and even… Much as he hated to admit it, he liked her position. If he moved now he would wake her up, and he didn't want that; he wanted to stay the way he was for eternity. _Besides_, he reasoned with himself, _we're already late. What's five more minutes?_

He looked down at her, a smile on his face; this was just perfect, the moon shining upon them, no cares in the world. As a lock of golden-brown hair fell on her forehead, he tenderly brushed it away, letting his fingers linger a moment longer than need be behind her ear where he pushed the strands. Oh, how she looked so beautiful, like a perfect angel…

Before he knew what he was doing, he ducked his head, and let his lips brush against hers. It was too tempting… He had had temptations before, but nothing compared to this.

He pulled back in horror and gasped, as she shifted a little. What did he think he was doing? He was being just like his brother – and suddenly a pang of realization hit him – he now knew just how easy it was to make a mistake. Just like his brother.

But it didn't matter to him; he _wasn't_ his brother, and he didn't make mistakes to put a friendship on the line, or twist the knife in farther with a sibling. That wasn't like him… _This_ wasn't like him – he was always dubbed perfect gentleman at school, at home, and he felt a need to keep that perfection. He was Takeru, the sweet, innocent child, not Yamato, the recluse.

But it felt so right.

Suddenly, the girl in his arms, his angel, his maiden, stirred. Just a bit, just so much that he noticed, and his heart started to race, faster than ever before; had he woken her with the kiss, like some fairy tale?

_No_, he desperately hoped, _she didn't notice the kiss. It was so slight, so innocent… How _could_ she have noticed it?_ But he didn't have time to dwell; she raised her arms and yawned loudly, before burying her face in his shirt and mumbling, "Hi T'keru. What time is it?"

He sighed hugely, a sigh of relief, and ran his hands through his blonde hair; his hat, he noticed, had fallen off of is head and onto hers. _Well,_ he thought, _she didn't notice the kiss; thank kami-sama._

But instead he replied, "Ossu 'Kari-chan… It's about quarter of eleven."

Groaning, she sat up, his white fisherman's hat floating off her silky brown hair to the cold, hard ground. "Oh, my mom will _kill_ me… I told Taichi I'd be back by nine-thirty, at the latest."

"Hey, it'll be okay," he reassured her, giving her a squeeze. "Taichi's a compassionate guy."

"It's not _him_ I'm worried about… My parents will be home now, and my mom doesn't like me out past ten." She buried her face in her hands, giving her the impression of a lost little girl.

Takeru tried to think of something – anything! – to cheer his friend up. "Hey, are you hungry?"

Narrowing her eyes, Hikari spoke again. "Takeru, my mom's probably worried sick about where I am, and you're thinking of food…?" She trailed of, cocking her head, as if trying to get a different view of her friend.

"Well, I figure, since you're already late enough…" This felt good. To be the bad boy for once.

"Takeru, my mom will have every cop on the Odaiba police force looking for me, and then some…" But he could tell by her brown eyes, glinting dangerously, that she had a mischievous streak in her, and he nodded encouragingly. "…So let's go."

Jumping up, Hikari picked the white hat off the ground, dusted it off, and shyly held it out to her friend, one hand behind her back, chuckling softly. "Sorry 'bout that T'K, it must have fallen while we, uh, slept…"

"Yeah," he replied, rubbing his hand on the back of his head, making no move to get the hat, "Um, I guess so…" Time stood still for a moment as Takeru sat there, on the bench, blushing red; giggling like a little girl, Hikari tossed his hat at him, reached for his hand, and pulled him up from the bench, linking arms with him.

Putting her head on his shoulder, she whispered softly, "I'm glad we're spending more time together, even if it _is_ kind of late at night… We don't usually any more."

Normally, Hikari's attention wouldn't have caused Takeru to go as red as he did. _What is wrong with me?_ he thought as Hikari hugged him tight, to keep warm. But instead he just replied, "Yeah," absentmindedly. In truth, he didn't even want to be here.

It wasn't because he didn't love his friend; they had been together through thick and thin, Hikari and Takeru, never leaving the other's side. He didn't want that to end, that everlasting bond of friendship. But at the same time he knew it wasn't going to last forever.

_Face it_, he told himself. _What she said today… you know that'll change everything._

And it was true. She was pregnant; she was going to have a child, at sixteen. The idea had always seemed so foreign to Takeru; he'd only ever seen or heard things like this on the daytime soap operas that he and Yamato used to watch when they were little; Mommy and Daddy would be fighting, and Yamato would turn on the television for himself and his little brother, not caring what it was they were watching. But Takeru noticed, and listened to these shows.

And at the same time, they never made any sense to him, the complicated plots with this brother and this sister, and the wanting, the lust, and love, or lack thereof… He never understood. That was all so far away from him.

But now he _did_ understand. This was a soap opera in itself- Yamato didn't want Hikari, and Takeru did want Hikari, and Hikari herself… she didn't know what she did or didn't want. And it was so confusing.

Because with this right now… Takeru knew things couldn't stay this way. They never did; something always changed. And he had a feeling that it would have to do with his friendship. Already, after not even a full day, Takeru's feelings toward Hikari were changing; at first he thought he loved her, and he _knew_ he wanted to protect her… but what did he really think now?

Easy- he felt nothing. He couldn't see her as his friend anymore, a little schoolgirl who giggled at everything, called him every day to just take a walk in the park, or have a picnic on a mid-January day and pretend everything was like Spring; he saw her instead as a woman, who was saddled with school and a to-be child, and no father of that child. And he couldn't feel for that new person.

Yet, at the same time, when she touched his bare skin, or intertwined her fingers with his and smiled at him, and looked into his eyes with such importance, meant for him and him alone, or giggled at some meaningless joke, she had an effect on him. He would blush like mad, but pull away, only to be pulled back by the brown-eyed siren that he called his best friend.

He didn't want to feel like that. He _didn't_. She loved Yamato – didn't she? – and even if she didn't, he had no right to go between them, and to betray their unborn child. He couldn't do that to him, her, and it.

But he wanted to, so badly.

"Takeru?" Hikari broke in, squeezing his warm hand in her cold one. All at once he brain was pulled out of his thoughts and back into reality, and his body went rigid. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head slightly and blinked a couple times. "What?"

"I said that we're here." Softly she tugged at his hand, pulling them into the warm light of a tall streetlamp, and smiled a shaky smile. "You were kinda zoning out on me there. Anything wrong?"

"Iie Hikari-chan, gomen. I didn't realize my mind was in outer space." He sighed and gently pulled his hand from hers, running it through his blonde hair, and she smiled her big, warm smile that was meant just for him; the grin went from ear-to-ear and he was somehow drawn to it like a ship to a beacon in a foggy mist on an ocean. Linking her arm through his, Hikari tilted her head onto his shoulder for the second time in ten minutes.

"I don't mind Takeru-kun. Let's get inside now though; I'm cold." And with that she pulled him through the glass doors of "Obaasan Tsujimura's Cozy Kitchen", a 24-hour coffee and doughnut shop run by an elderly couple and their fifty-five year old children.

Rubbing her hands briskly together, Hikari shrugged out of her coat and Takeru took it, hanging his and her jackets on the old-fashioned coat hooks by the doors; the Shoppe was homey and small, and immediately Takeru felt a calm rush befall him. "Hikari, you're shaking, go sit down and I'll order; what do you want?"

Lips chattering through her smile, the girl nodded her head and replied, "Apple cider please," before going to one of the tiny window booths and sinking into the red leather seats gratefully. A few minutes later Takeru joined her, handing her a hot mug of cider to warm her hands, a delicate teacup filled to the brim with strong tea in his own. Hikari took a long sip of her drink, sighed, and said, "Arigatou T- t'keru-kun. I appreciate it."

And she smiled again. Damn, that smile had such an effect on him; he was only able to return it with his own, very shaky, version of a self-confident grin, and wave off her thanks, hitting his cup in the process, spilling the burning contents into his lap.

Trying to look like, sure, there was scalding liquid seeping trough his pants, but that wasn't really a problem, Takeru jumped up and sprinted towards the men's room, Hikari's giggles echoing in his head.

_That was great_, he told himself, wetting a paper towel and rubbing it over the spreading wet spot on his khakis. _Just wonderful… try to look over-confident, and you end up looking like a jerk._ It was as he turned to throw the sopping towel in the trash can that he caught site of his face in the mirror; he looked annoyed, and he knew it was at himself, and his face was still a light pink; he was sure it was ten times darker when he had spilt his tea.

Closing his eyes he bent over the sink, splashing cold water over his face. Better…. Still not perfect, but better. Just like he was supposed to be – not perfect, just regular, in the middle.

But why did he care what he looked like? It wasn't as if it would mean anything to Hikari. They had a friendship, nothing more, nothing less, and he wanted it to stay that way. So that would mean it didn't matter what he looked like, because he wasn't out to impress Hikari.

Or was he?

Shaking his head seemed to be the obvious answer; the answer to clear his mind, spill his thoughts over the men's room to be swept up later and thrown away. Too bad shaking your head doesn't always work.

He knew that as soon as he stepped back into the coffee shoppe, atmosphere thick with the smell of chocolate and coffee beans, swirling in his mind and jumbling his poor, confused thoughts. He knew that as he saw her, content and happy, patting the seat next to her and smiling away, batting her eyelashes every so often. She knew their relationship was completely platonic, didn't she?

Hell, he didn't care if she knew or not, because he didn't know anymore either. How could he? Every time he tried to think of something other than romance, there she was, his mind back on the same one track. Every time he thought he had his thoughts straightened out, there she was, throwing another curve for him to hit. Everything he even tried to think, there she was, just… there.

He had to get away.

Sighing, Takeru grabbed his coat and handed Hikari hers, stopping briefly to hold open the heavy glass and wood door for Hikari, the gentleman he was; she gave him a quizzical look as he went out after her, but sped up so he was in front of her, head bowed low, hands jammed into his coat pockets.

"T'keru-chan?" she asked, and was returned with a grunt. Frowning, she tried again. "Takeru?"

This time he stopped and sighed softly, allowing her to pull even with him and put her hand in his upper arm. "Did I make you angry?"

"I'm sorry Hikari, I didn't mean to storm out like that, I-" but she cut him off, smiling.

"Spilling tea isn't that big a deal you know." Nodding, Takeru looked up at her.

"That- that's not it, but all the same…" He lapsed into silence, turning around, and heading for the direction of Hikari's house. "We should be going back anyway, it really is getting late."

"Oh," she replied in a small voice, unsure what to make of Takeru's sudden mood swing. "If you say so." She fell into step beside her friend, not saying anything for a while, just looking at the ground, not sure of what to say.

She looked sidelong at Takeru, and thought briefly of saying what every other girl in this situation would have said; 'Oh Takeru, you don't have to walk me home you know, I'll be ok…' and then blushing deeply while Takeru would reply, 'Don't mention it, I'm not letting you walk home by yourself, there's a ton of people out here that'll take advantage of that…' But she didn't, just looked down again and sighed. That wasn't like them, saying written lines like they were the main characters of some modern-day Romeo and Juliet; at least, she didn't think it was like that.

But lately it seemed more and more as if that's exactly what they were doing; play-acting some Broadway production, the climax coming closer and closer every single day, sneaking up on them, and there they were, unprepared, because some lazy playwright hadn't yet written their parts.

"So, have you decided about telling your parents yet?" Takeru asked suddenly, jarring her out of her thoughts and putting her back on the stage of her life. "I mean, have you decided when you're going to tell them?"

"Tell them…?" Hikari trailed off uncomprehendingly, before re-grouping her thoughts and stuttering; "N-no, not really, I guess I haven't thought about it much-"

"How long have _you_ known?" he broke in hesitantly.

"About a week, almost… Since Tuesday. I wasn't feeling very well, so Taichi had Jyou come over after he was done with his classes for the day. And he told me."

"So Jyou and Taichi know… and me?"

Hikari bowed her head and nodded. "Look Hikari-chan… I think you should tell your parents soon. They'll be even more disappointed if they knew that your friends knew before they did."

"But- But Takeru!" she cried, her head snapping up, eyes darting back and forth wildly, biting her lip. "I can't! You don't know how they'll react- it'll be horrible! They'll be so disappointed, and angry… but mostly disappointed."

"Well, have you thought about how everyone else will react?" he asked gently. "Take Daisuke for instance; do you really think he'll be quite pleased?" Hikari grimaced at this; Daisuke was a good friend, and seemed to think the she and he could be a couple someday; this unexpected news would shatter him.

"I- I guess I hadn't," she began quietly, talking to the pavement underfoot; "Oh, he'll be devastated…"

"Exactly why I think you should tell your parents first. If you can't count on your own family to be supportive, there's really one you can count on, is there?"

"Except you," she started, and Takeru remembered how just a few hours ago he had been prepared to abandon his best friend. She took a deep breath; "I think you're right. I'll tell them tonight."

"That's it," Takeru agreed, smiling. They walked on in silence after that, down the chilly streets and towards the towering Odiaba apartments; it took only a few minutes to reach the front doors, and once there, Takeru shifted from foot to foot "Well, I'd better be going…"

"Yeah, but- Takeru? Will you- will you help me tell me parents? Tonight? I don't mean to impose," she went on quickly, in a rush, head ducked and eyes downcast, " But I mean, if you're around for- for moral support, then maybe- maybe it won't be so hard to tell them. Oh please Takeru, I'll never ask for anything again!"

"Well I don't know Hikari," he began thoughtfully, "It's really none of my business…"

"Please?" she asked again, hopefully, as if having Takeru there with her meant everything in the world, as if he was the dinghy that was to save her from the choppy waters that her parents would soon unleash upon her. "Please?"

He couldn't help but smile, faintly, and reply, "Okay, you win…" before trailing off.

"Doomo- Doomo arigatou T'keru-chan!" With that she seized his hand and linked her fingers with his, pulling him up the stairs to her apartment, completely forgetting that it would be all the more easier to just ride the elevator all the way up. She stopped abruptly at the door to her apartment – her schoolbooks were no longer outside the door, he noticed – and sighed deeply, before turning to Takeru to receive an encouraging smile, and taking her key from her pocket and unlocking her door.

The sight that met Takeru's eyes was somewhat startling; Hikari's father sat by the counter on a stool, picking at what Takeru guessed was either a dinner or late-night snack; Taichi was parked on the couch in front of the television, unaware, that some late soap-opera was in the middle of (he guessed) its season finale, but instead, his eyes were glued on the door that Hikari had just opened, as if he had been expecting his sister and her best friend to come in at that moment. Mrs. Yagami was standing by the refrigerator, a frown on her usually smiling face; Takeru guessed he had forgotten how severe and dramatic she could get at times like this, a trait Hikari had inherited.

And he and Hikari were just standing inside the doorway, a tight smile on Hikari's face, a look of bewilderment on his.

Mrs. Yagami's eyes seemed to be saying 'sit', because the next thing Takeru knew, Hikari was guiding him to the couch and pulling him beside her and her brother, still gnawing on her upper lip. Mrs. Yagami sat in the loveseat across from them, and her husband, quiet as a mouse, turned off the television and took to standing by a lamp nearer Taichi, rather than taking a seat by his livid wife.

"Explain yourself." She directed this question towards Hikari, almost as if she hadn't yet taken notice of Takeru. He noted Hikari fidget beside him, and Taichi seemed to know what she was about to tell her parents, so he reached out and took one of her hands in his. Hikari shot a look of thanks toward her brother, and a wave of jealously washed over Takeru; why couldn't he have a brother like Taichi, rather than Yamato, who was overseas touring at the moment?

"Well," Hikari began softly and calmly, as if choosing her words carefully; "There really isn't much to tell."

Mrs. Yagami's frown became fiercer at this, and Takeru thought it unwise to anger her any further, so he poked Hikari in the side with his elbow. She shot a Look back at him, but her eyes darted towards her mother again, and she seemed to take heed of Takeru's gesture. "…Except for one tiny thing," she finished; almost as if that's what she had been planning on saying all along.

"And that would be…?" Mrs. Yagami began for her.

Hikari lowered her head, and took a deep breath, before looking her mother in the eye and stating simply, "I'm pregnant."

Takeru wasn't sure what to expect, but Mrs. Yagami getting to her feet and starting, "Of all the selfish, inconsiderate, _horrible_ things…" seemed perfectly in character. What he couldn't get over though was how Mr. Yagami just stood by the lamp, bowing his head at his wife's words, while Mrs. Yagami took a few steps toward her daughter, hands clenched in fists by her sides. "Your father and I raised you," she went on, her voice rising higher with each syllable, until she was literally screaming each new word, "and this is that _thanks we GET?_"

"Mother, please now…" Taichi came to his sister's aid, but was immediately stopped as Mrs. Yagami struck him hard across the cheek, leaving a red mark. "Taichi, this _does not_ concern you!" Her eyes swept across the room and landed on Takeru, and he could almost feel her anger radiating. "And I suppose he!"

"Mother, no!" Hikari cried, jumping up in front of him. "This doesn't concern Takeru either, he's just here for me; I asked him to come. Please don't be angry at him!"

"And why shouldn't I, if he's the fath-"

Hikari cut her off quickly; "He's not… Yamato is," she ended softly. Takeru could tell Mrs. Yagami was torn between yelling at him some more, or hitting Hikari. In the end she did neither; she looked at the ground, and quietly said, "Please go Hikari- to your room, I don't care. I can't bear to look at you right now." She turned heel and stalked to her own room, her husband following her, shooting a last, reproving look at his daughter.

"Takeru, Taichi, I- I'm so sorry-" but Taichi stopped her by taking a hold on her hand and pulling her to his room.

"I believe we need to talk, Hikari. The two of us." Sighing greatly, he let go of her arm and walked towards his room, saying, "Five minutes," after shooting a commiserating look toward his sister.

"I- I'll go now then," Takeru went on, to fill the sudden silence, and Hikari only nodded. Walking across the room, he gently tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes, filling with tears. He gave her a small hug; "Hikari, just think; things can only get easier from now on."

Smiling sadly, she nodded, and kissed him on the cheek. "Arigatou Takeru-kun." Slowly, she turned towards Taichi's room, where her brother was waiting for her, leaving Takeru to let himself out.


	4. Burning in an Icy Pond

Begun: 03.02.02

Finished: 05.25.02

_"Burning in an Icy Pond"_

Hikari poked her head out the door of her bedroom and looked right and left; Taichi had already left for school and her parents for work, but it seemed they had wisely and unanimously decided to let her sleep late and miss a day. Good thing they had; she hadn't considered how tired she would be after staying up until nearly one in the morning the night before talking to her older brother about things she didn't understand. She sighed; already this unborn child was taking its toll.

Tiredly, she yawned and turned back into her room, took out a pink sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, and sat on her bed, contemplating her choice of clothes. They were faded, old, work clothes, meant for house-cleaning every third Sunday of the month; but did it really matter? After all, she wasn't going to be going anywhere important that day, but more likely than not just going to hang around the house until her family came home, and pretend to be asleep the minute they walked in the door, to avoid confrontation.

She sighed as she pulled her shirt over her head. Whatever happened to her parents understanding her no matter what, always taking her side, and being the beacon of light to lead her along the dark and gloomy road of life? When had things gotten so complicated that their importance in her life diminished into them being two people she happened to live with, two _more_ people who were angry with her for making the wrong decision in her life.

Well, she was angry with them too, for not understanding, she decided as she pulled on her jeans and sat down on her bed again. It really wasn't all her fault; Yamato had egged her on, he hadn't wanted to stop her; and they were treating him like he had nothing to do with this at all, treating him like he was an innocent bystander. That wasn't it, she told herself firmly; I wouldn't have done it if it were Takeru talking to me; if it were Takeru who I were sitting beside on the couch; if it were Takeru who had lead me into that false sense of security.

There was a nagging feeling gnawing away and tugging at her heart; she knew that wasn't really the truth, that she _would_ have done that if it were Takeru (if he let her) but still… She shook her head dismissively and closed her eyes, then opened them and walked from the room, grabbing her coat and slipping on her shoes. They should be more understanding. They were her _parents_.

Hikari closed the door to their apartment behind her and slowly turned the key in the lock, twisting the knob and making sure the door was securely shut tight before pocketing the key and starting briskly towards the main street. She knew her destination once she was out in the cool air, although she hadn't known when she was in her apartment where she was headed.

All the way across town, stopping several times for breath, Hikari dragged herself up the stairs to his apartment and knocked suddenly on the door, slipping inside when he pulled it slightly open. It didn't even dawn on her to be surprised that he was at home until after he had offered her a seat and made himself comfortable beside her. "Hikari," Takeru stated simply, slightly surprised, "Why are you… here?"

"They didn't wake me this morning…" She looked down and wrung her hands, letting out a soft breath. "I don't- I don't think they wanted to speak to me." She forced herself to keep her eyes glued to a stain on the worn rug beneath her feet; she knew if she made eye contact with him she would start to cry, no doubt. Oh, how was it her life had gotten so complicated?

"Oh, I'm so sorry Hikari. Look, I haven't- haven't gotten dressed yet – " it was true, he was wearing only oversized basketball shorts and a white undershirt " – But you're more than welcome to wait here for a moment while I get some – er, clothes on." He was uncomfortable, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Right Takeru," she said miserably, "I'll stay right here. Don't worry about me." She forced a smile, and sank deep into the couch, waiting for his return. As soon as he plopped into the seat beside her, fully dressed, hair tucked neatly under his white fisherman's hat, as usual, she turned to him. She didn't say anything, not for at least ten minutes, just sat next to him, in complete and utter silence. He looked concerned; he looked like he _wanted_ her to say something, despite the fact that it was so much easier sitting in silence than answering impossible questions.

She finally decided she owed him an explanation; or, at least, should give him something to ponder while she decided how to explain her going over to his house in the middle of a school day. Before asking anything that would be logical, though, – "What happened to me, Takeru?" or "How did my life get so complicated, Takeru?" or "Why don't you hate me too… Takeru?" – she looked straight into his blue eyes, so full of concern, and said quickly, "Takeru, what time is it?"

His face broke into his familiar grin, and he chuckled. "Twelve-thirty, Hikari-chan. Why do you ask? I'd have thought you would have at least checked the clock before dashing out of your house." His sapphire eyes danced with happiness, and laughter sparkled in their corners; he teased, "I didn't think I was that important."

She laughed, softly, and patted one of his hands. "You know you're the most important thing in my life right now, Takeru-chan. You know it."

Hikari sighed contentedly, and leaned back, grinning, her plate of almost-finished food wobbling dangerously on her knees. "Thank you for the lunch, Takeru-chan. I completely forgot to have breakfast before I left…"

He grinned – how many times had he grinned at her today? – and she got up without warning and picked up both their plates, emptying their contents into the trash bag in the kitchen adjacent to the living room they were in. "Oh, 'Kari-chan, you really don't have to do that, you know," he told her.

"No, no, I want to," was her adamant reply. She reappeared in the room and shrugged, still smiling; "You made the food, I clean up."

"But Hikari-"

She threw her hands in the air. "Oh Takeru!" Coming over to him, she came up behind the couch, and snaked her arms around his neck. God, how he hated when she did something like this. "Really, I _don't mind_," she whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You know I'd do anything for you."

Not again. Not again. Not again. He immediately felt his insides recoil with her slightest physical touch, and this was too much for him. He had the half-nerve to reply _"And I, you, Hikari-chan,"_ but instead twisted in his seat, and looked up at her. "Hikari, the baby…" he trailed off lightly, changing tact.

It worked. She moved backwards and looked pained, but said quickly, "What about it?"

"Hikari…" he sighed. "What – _when_ – are you going to tell the others?"

Hikari perched herself on the top of the couch and swung her legs. "Today – tonight?"

He nodded briskly. "The sooner the better, you know. Daisuke is…" _Don't continue_, he told himself furiously. _Don't say anything about Daisuke_.

"Daisuke is what? I _know_ he's going to be disappointed, but…"

It was too late. She was going to go off on another tangent, something she did whenever he brought up the fragile subject of her and Daisuke – as a couple or anything less. And he was going to foolishly pursue it, like always. "But what Hikari? But he'll have to deal with it? That isn't _fair_."

"Life's not always fair," she snapped back, letting her hand drift to her midsection. "Unfortunately, life's just something we all have to take in stride, like it or not."

He sighed again. _Why_ did he always do this? "Hikari, I know, but this isn't fair to him – you have to tell him your feelings someday, and before the baby-"

"I'll tell him just like everyone else," she ended curtly, in a manner that told him it was settled, end of story. "He'll have to get used to it, so please don't press it."

He lost. He could have always said, "_Hikari, no, you have to tell him…_" but he didn't. He never did. And he always lost this fight. Instead: "Have it your way Hikari…" and a big smile. But this time the follow-up was something different, something bolder. "So you'll tell them all today then?"

"I s'pose so… After all, better sooner than later." Hikari flashed Takeru a quick grin, but it was already different from the one she wore earlier – this was loathing, hate. Because he had never forced her to do something she hadn't wanted to do before. He felt a new sense of power – and at the same time was kicking himself.

Damn his stupid, mixed-up feelings.

_-_

Izumi Koushiro peered up into the high canopy of the maple tree above him, blossoming in colour. It was beautiful. If only it wouldn't keep shedding… "Iori!" he called, loudly. "Iori, stop that!"

His brown hair half-hanging in his eyes, Hida Iori still looked solemn as ever when he swung his fourteen-year-old body down from the tree branch where the magnificent leaves hid most of him. It was still startling to Koushiro to see Iori so grown up, but he quickly regained his senses, and said, "Stop with the leaves! No more!"

"Sumimasen, Koushiro-sama… But they're just leaves!" Koushiro was startled off balance now. The quick grin the younger boy gave him now didn't seem to fit Iori's personality. But everything _had_ changed over the years; even since Iori had come to terms with his feelings about his father, he wasn't always sullen, and serious. _"Koushiro,"_ the young boy had told him so many years ago, _"ever since Mr. Oikawa showed up… ever since then I've learned so much. My father was a greater man than I ever knew. And now… now it's ok to laugh. He'd want me to laugh."_

And he laughed. Thus ended Iori's introverted ness, his shy manner. He'd loosened up so much; he no longer only confided in Koushiro and Miyako, and now Ken and Hikari became his most special friends. Everything was okay with the boy now. As he had also told Koushiro, _"Now I don't fear waking up to a happy day, because I no longer have to hide my smile."_

And he didn't hide it, Koushiro noted; he smiled everyday now.

"Iori-kun, leave Koushi' alone," Miyako gently scolded, bringing him back to reality. Koushiro had to smile at Miyako's loving nature, and even at the name she had _so kindly_ bestowed upon him so many years before; and also because she was so… unchanged. Stubborn and pig-headed as ever, five years had barely changed Miyako in the slightest. Except her body… Koushiro grinned to think what Mimi would do to him now if she ever knew of his thoughts towards the younger girl. What a red mark he would have on his face!

Iori nodded solemnly, and pulled himself back into the tree he was in. Ichijouji Ken shook his head, and muttered softly, "Never know what he's going to do now, that Iori. He's changed so much…" Ken let out a soft sigh and ran a hand through his dark azure locks. _Well_, thought Koushiro, _this boy is the opposite of changed._ It was true, too. He was serious as ever, if not a bit more so. But he had a fun-loving side now too; Miyako had contributed to that.

"Oh Ken-kun," she stated, from her place on the oak bench, head in Ken's lap. "Let him change." He sighed, but attempted a light smile when she intertwined her fingers with his and added, "You act too- too mature. Leave him alone." Ken merely nodded.

"Ken, come on. Lighten up! A little fun never hurt anybody!" Daisuke piped from his seat on the ground, at the edge of the bench. He was absently braiding and twisting one of his two best friend's long hair, which was hanging over the edge of the bench, and too tempting for him to ignore. She, however, didn't seem to be annoyed, for once.

"Oh Daisuke… I just…" Ken sighed. "He's just so… different."

"Ken-kun, we've all changed," Miyako noted sensibly.

"Not 'Kari-chan," Daisuke spoke quickly. _And you_, Koushiro thought ruefully. He was still the first one to defend Hikari, and the first one to say anything against a bad word towards her; and he still always called her 'Kari-chan; occasionally 'kiobito', but not often enough for Takeru or Taichi to see point in stopping him, and never anything else. He really was infatuated with her – perhaps this was love he felt now, at age sixteen.

Takenouchi Sora shook her head, her short cap of red hair bobbing. "Hikari has changed too…" she spoke solemnly, in a low voice. Since the death of her father a year ago, Sora just hadn't been the same. More quiet, less out-going – not that she ever really was, anyway – and much, much _older_. Like she had gone through too much in her nineteen years. "Face it; we all have."

Daisuke huffed, and Miyako smoothed things over; "Where _is_ Hikari-chan? She and Takeru wanted to meet with us, but they aren't…" She trailed off as Hikari, dressed in sweats, and Takeru, escorting her, came down a short hill, followed slowly by Taichi, his hands in his pockets, head bent down, scarf flying. Miyako waved her hand in greeting and they smiled back at her – all except Taichi.

Sitting up, Miyako called, "Ossu! You're finally here!"

"Right," Hikari said shortly. While Taichi grunted hello and sat beside Sora on a large rock close by the bench Miyako and Ken occupied, both Hikari and Takeru stood; he was wearing a big, obviously fake smile, her, a tiny grin, if that.

"Well…" Ken started in a low voice. "You had to say…?"

Hikari blushed, and Takeru said, "Don't rush her. She's been through a lot-"

"No, nevermind Takeru." Hikari placed a hand on his arm that made Daisuke glow red with jealousy. What did Takeru know that he didn't?

"Out with it!" he said, more forcefully than he intended. He had expected Hikari to only glance at him, but she glared, and tightened her grip on Takeru's arm. Daisuke blushed at his own stupidity; why, oh why, did he always make stupid comments when she was around? He always kept his emotions in check when she wasn't around.

Koushiro shut his laptop, and looked right up at the seemingly couple. He noticed Iori hang from the branch above him, and gave the littler boy a small nod. Normally, he would have smiled; but what was so wrong with what Hikari had to say that it was taking her so long to say it? "Hikari?" he started timidly, but was cut off when Miyako got up beside her friend, Daisuke abruptly dropping her hair.

"Hikari-chan? Please tell us… what you wanted to say." She was firm, Koushiro noted, with admiration – firm, and comforting at the same time. Hikari didn't frown at her like she would have Daisuke, but rather shot Miyako a small smile.

"Oh, it's nothing really…" Takeru gave her a hard look, and she dropped her voice to a whisper. "I'm just pregnant,' she finished lamely.

There couldn't have been a more mixed bushel of emotions. Miyako looked a cross between – sadness and happiness maybe? – while Iori was rather shocked. Koushiro was shocked also, beyond belief, but he was calculating, as always… who was the father; was it a boy or a girl; would Hikari need help; when was it coming; and on and on and on.

Ken looked surprised. There was no other way to put it, Koushiro thought, no other way at all. He looked like someone had dealt him a blow to the stomach, or that something he had always taken for granted had been twisted into the opposite of what it was – like the sun suddenly was found to revolve around the Earth after all. It was quite the opposite look of Taichi, who Koushiro figured must have known beforehand.

Sora, as was the usual now, showed no emotion. She didn't cry, scream, smile, or nod, but rather, let her face go blissfully blank. Koushiro found himself wishing he could figure out what she was thinking; it was so frustrating that he suddenly didn't seem to known her at all. Daisuke, contrarily, was beside himself with anger.

"Let me at him!" he growled, balling his fists, getting up quickly, and getting in front of Takeru. "I'll kill him!"

Everything seemed to happen at once, according to Koushiro – "Daisuke!" Miyako called sharply, and rushed forward to grab his arm, only to be pushed backward into Ken. She looked thoroughly shocked and hurt; her mouth open in an 'O', eyes wide, she looked about ready to cry. Taichi got up off his feet to end the probable brawl, and found he needn't; Hikari situated herself in front of her friend, and yelled, "It isn't him!"

She was glaring at Daisuke, and he immediately backed away, eyes still fiery, a burning hatred for _someone_ burning somewhere deep inside him. "So who is it?" he hissed acidly.

Hikari took a deep gulp of air – Takeru supported her from behind – and she stuttered "Y-Y-Yamato."

Everyone, save Sora and Taichi, looked shocked at this, but Daisuke was the only one who acted, as usual. "You _slut_!" he screeched. Hikari was taken aback by that, but before she could think of a scathing reply, Daisuke, first always to defend his love, yelled again, "You fucking SLUT! How could you just screw everyone like this!"

Hikari stopped, and stuttered, "I- I-", but was quickly cut off.

"How could you screw everyone? How could you _do_ that? I thought we were your friends! I thought you loved us! All of us!" After a moment, eyes reddened, Daisuke added softly, haltingly, "I thought you loved _me_."

And, tears welling in her eyes, Hikari opened her mouth, closed it again, and covered it with a hand; she ran before anyone could see her tears; ran away into the woods, slipping on mud and tree roots, but not stopping. She could faintly hear cries of "Hikari!" in the background, but she didn't stop until she was sure the voices were well away from her. She fell to her knees, panting, taking short intakes of breath.

Everything was running through her mind, drowning her - the expressions on each and everyone's faces… Takeru's vows to stick by her… her parents' disappointment… Taichi's shock and disbelief… Everything was playing quickly, in rewind, and then fast-forward, melding together, becoming one…

"_You_ slut!" and "_How could you just screw everyone like this?_"; she heard Daisuke's words now, and finally got the full impact of them. Even he had turned against her now; and she had thought he would do anything to protect her. Now he was just denying any feelings towards her; he was looking at her like everyone else did; a common tramp.

And he was supposed to be her _friend_. They _all_ were. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks, and she didn't bother to brush them away. They were supposed to be her friends, and where was she now… in the middle of the woods, alone and friendless. Because she made a mistake. It wasn't fair. Everyone made mistakes. Daisuke had it all wrong; _she_ was _their_ friend; it was _they_ who weren't _hers_.

Hikari was starting to feel dizzy, and had no idea why; she likened this to burning in an icy pond. Suddenly, the world was coming together, one great blob of colour, blending, swirling… And just before she hit the ground, a strong pair of arms caught her around the middle and leaned her against a tree trunk. "Takeru?"

He grinned. "Hikari-chan, why'd you just run away? You didn't give anyone a chance to explain."

"Explain?" She had only a hint of bitterness in her voice; the rest was sadness; she might listen to reason.

"Right, explain…"

Daisuke stepped out from behind one of the trees, hands in pockets, looking thoroughly sheepish as he stared at a rock on the ground. He knew he wanted to say something to her; she knew he had something to say; and neither knew what. Finally, he stated simply, "I'm sorry."

And that seemed good enough for her. Hikari flung her arms around his neck, positively sobbing; tears and cheeks reddened and tear-stained. "Oh Daisuke!" she moaned; "Oh Daisuke, I didn't mean to- to- to-" her voice broke, and he rubbed her back slowly as she cracked, "I made a mistake, please, forgive me, please…" She trailed off, sobbing in his arms, soaking his shirt with the tears he provoked.

"Oh 'Kari-chan, it's my fault. I didn't mean what I said. I was angry, I was frustrated, I…" He didn't seem to be able to find a way to finish his sentence, but Hikari didn't care; she just leaned into Daisuke's touch, let his breath softly tickle her ear, as her sobs winded to almost nothing.

Softly, she squeaked, but made no reference to a coherent sentence; nothing needed to be spoken between the two; they had a mutual friendship, yet again. It was an odd thing they shared, this friendship; neither wanted to be close to the other unless they needed it; and it didn't seem like much of a friendship besides. Yet nothing could break it, and everyone had a hard time understanding it. Then again, maybe it was they who had a hard time understanding; maybe they didn't know what friendship really was, exactly.

Hikari shook her head, and after a few minutes, breathed slowly. Her face was dry now; she was shocked to see that his face was tear-streaked and wet, his eyes puffy and red. Slowly, deliberately, she used the end of her sweatshirt to wipe his eyes. "Daisuke," she whispered, "Why're you crying?"

"I was just- just thinking." When he saw the look of confusion on her face he took one of her hands, and looked her straight in the eyes. "I was thinking… that you'll be one hell of a mother."

With a great sigh of relief and thanks, Hikari leaned against the tree trunk and closed her eyes; when she opened them a second later she met Takeru's gaze and grinned. "I love you both," she said hoarsely, beckoning Takeru forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. "I don't know how I could live without the either of you. My life would be so boring!"

His laugh, Hikari noticed, was hollow, dead, and full of sorrow; nevertheless, Takeru wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her back, picked her up and twirled her around. "Oh Hikari-chan," he replied, setting her down, "My life would be nothing without you in it. Honestly… what would I do without some excitement? I'd be stuck with Daisuke-" he jabbed at him with his elbow and grinned, while Daisuke made a face of mock anger, "-or Miyako."

Hikari smiled back and looped her arm with his, grabbing Daisuke's hand with hers. "Now don't you say that," she teased, leading the way back, "Or I think Miyako will make you're life _very_ interesting…."

Takeru scoffed, and pointed ahead. "No way, look at her; she's way too interested in the baby." Miyako choose that moment to jump Hikari and fire questions; "When is it due? Girl or boy? What about Godparents? I'm not Catholic, _but_…."

Hikari grinned and hugged her friend. "No idea-" she started to reply, but Miyako was already off on a tangent, thinking up new questions to spring. "Does Yamato know? What about names? Is a wedding planned? I _am_ going to be a bridesmaid, right? I'd better be…." Daisuke and Takeru stepped in to help Hikari, and Ken grabbed one of Miyako's hands; Iori seemed both interested and calm, while Taichi sat back, smug.

Koushiro didn't notice the din. He was too busy trying to work out the nonexistent expression on Sora's face.


	5. Never Change

Begun: 04.18.03

Finished: 07.25.03

_"Never Change"_

"You're jealous, aren't you?"

Sora Takenouchi shook her short red bob and bent over a display-case of cut flowers; she turned on her smile full-blast and tilted her head. "The white is my favourite, personally, but the yellow is nice too. I'm not sure if I'd go for red. It's a secret but-" she lowered her voice and leaned forward, "-they're out of season and _wilting._"

"Sora, you're _jealous_. Just answer me." He was infuriating, and she was going to block him no matter what; just turn your back, and there you go Takenouchi, just like at soccer practise: no Taichi.

The short, plump woman shook her head. "But I _like_ the red, even if they _are_ wilting." Sora just rolled her eyes.

"Well, you can still have them if you want, I just meant…."

"Do you think red roses might stand for jealously, Sora?"

The plump woman eyed the brown-haired teen suspiciously, and sent a general glare in his direction; "I'm not sure if wilted flowers are right for a funeral, you know, but I hate white and yellow…."

"Did he die of jealousy?" Sora could just _feel_ Taichi grinning behind her, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of turning around; she just swatted the arm that snaked its way around her waist, and hissed _"Go away"_. She had a customer. She didn't feel like playing games with Taichi.

The woman sucked her breath in, and turned heel, apparently irked by the comment. With a flourish and a 'harrumph' she walked out the door: "Well maybe I'll take my business _else_where, a place where they don't have _wilted_ red roses." The glass door gave a final _ding _as it shut behind the woman.

Sora turned on Taichi, hit his arm, and narrowed her eyes. "_What did you do that for_?" she hissed venomously.

With a shrug, Taichi leaned against the counter and ran his fingers through his hair. It was strange how he could remind her so much of Yamato when he was like that. "I'm trying to talk to you. It's important."

Rolling her eyes, Sora turned her back on him and looked out the window, the grey, rainy day outside mirroring her soul. "What do we have to talk about? My emotions are none of your business, and besides… you have no right to talk to me when you get obnoxious like this. I have work."

Sora closed her eyes and waited a moment before she felt familiar rough hands on her bare shoulders, and she shivered. Her resolve was melting away as quickly as it had built up. A soft voice whispered in her ear; "No one's going to come to the shop tonight, it's pouring. Close it down and come for dinner with me. I really do want to talk with you."

She used to be able to resist his annoying charm; she used to be able to be strong, and say no to him. For the eighteen years she had known him they had been best friends, and were always equal; they didn't pressure each other, they didn't fight. And now, suddenly, she was rendered helpless by the paralysing voice beside her.

It was funny what growing up did to a person.

With a glance at the rain outside, a swift look around the flower shop, colours mixing and blending, giving her a headache, terrific smells overwhelming her, she made a quick decision. "Grab the 'Sorry, We're Closed' sign in the corner and hang it on the door, inside." She made a quick grab for the keys, and a moment later the two eighteen-year-olds, blinded by the downpour, ran down the street, jackets pulled over their heads.

Years ago when they were carefree and didn't have anything on their minds, the best friends would have been laughing and jumping in puddles, not caring about messing up their clothes. But now laughter had been whisked away by the ghost of a friend, and Sora's heels prevented her from jumping into a puddle. Ever since she had donned the clothes of a working woman, their childhood spent together, always together, had taken a backseat; they were alone.

Alone or not, Sora felt the hand of Taichi slide into her own; he held open the door of a café, open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week; with a chuckle, he pushed his mass of brown mop from his forehead and tucked a stray crimson piece behind her ear. It was crazy, the little things he would do for her; blinded by love, how could he realise she wasn't smiling?

There was the maitre'd, showing them to a booth next to the window; Sora shook her cap of hair, brushed the fringe off her forehead, and shook her head in distaste at her seemingly-ruined leather before delicately denting a plastic cushion and placing her purse beside her. Taichi plopped into the bench opposite and grinned, picking up a worn green-and-gold menu.

Sora didn't smile, nor did she scan the menu. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

"Try the chicken, it really is delicious." Taichi reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash; he frowned before gazing at the choices a second time.

Sora sighed. "Taichi, look, I could be back at the shop. I don't have time for…" he glanced out the window at the steadily increasing rain. "Guessing games," she finished.

Taichi lowered his menu, all traces of a grin gone. "You really don't want to be here, do you?" In the old days he would have expected her to make up some excuse that really wasn't an excuse; "Mother counts on me at the store," "I need to be home by five."

Now she didn't: just laid it on him with no warning. "No; I don't want to be here."

He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair again; Sora meant to take his hand, stop the irritating habit, but caught herself at the last minute. Taichi didn't need her babying; he was a grown man, at nineteen, and she wasn't his girlfriend, or his mother… or even his best friend. She was just… there.

And people who were just there weren't important.

"Look Sora…" He broke off, and tried again. "Sora, I… I know you don't want to be here. But…" He went on, slowly, carefully, as if choosing his weapons of choice and waiting for the crossfire. "Please just order something, pretend we're having a nice time, pretend we're getting along. I _do_ need to talk to you." He turned his eyes to her, bit his lip. She gritted her teeth and nodded.

"If you really aren't going to leave me alone, I guess I have no choice." In the old days he would have laughed, and she would have laughed, and gazed at her like there was no one else in the world he loved more. She would have glanced back, and looked away, and they both would have turned red from the blushing.

Now they just said nothing.

Taichi ordered the chicken… and Sora ordered fish. Taichi questioned her choice, per usual – "Fish? You can have fish everyday, the chicken is excellent…" – and Sora just snapped back, "I'm trying to lose weight." End of conversation.

Taichi acted like she slapped him… but didn't say anything more. He just looked down and started scratching at the table with a fork; back and forth, back and forth… things were monotonous, things went on and on… but then why was his life suddenly spiraling out of control?

"So?" Sora broke into his thoughts. She always had a way of doing that, even when she wasn't near him at all; she just entered his mind, pushed everything else out, and he was blissfully content to spend the rest of his waking moments dwelling on her. He was in love.

"So what?" He chanced a smile at her; she didn't return it.

"So what did you want to talk to me about? I don't have all day…." She rolled her eyes and looked back out at the rain. "Look, if it's about Hikari and Takeru…."

"No!" he said quickly, too quickly; she narrowed her eyes at him. He lowered his voice and his raised hands. "No, I wanted to… to talk about us." He was pleading now, without even knowing.

"What about us?" Looking anywhere but at him, that's what she was doing: carefully avoiding eye contact. He couldn't take it; why was she always like that lately?

"Sora, you know what about." He reached for her hand, and she pulled away. She was always pulling away.

Biting her lip, she looked back out the window and started drumming her fingers of the tabletop. "No I _don't_ know, nor do I care."

"Sora, about _us_! What happened?"

She glared in his general direction; he thought he caught tears in her eyes, but couldn't be sure; she was always glossy-eyed and beyond caring. With a shaking voice, her manicured nails still hitting the table rhythmically, she managed, "Nothing happened to us. We're still the same people we were."

"Bullshit, Sora!" He earned reproving glances from several customers and ducked his head, lowering his voice. "We changed when _Yamato_ happened to us." The sound of nails-on-wood was driving him crazy.

It was almost as if he had sworn worse than he did; Sora just said, in the same, maddeningly calm voice she had been using with him, the same voice so devoid of any emotion she may have once felt for him or Yamato, "Don't talk to me about _him_."

Taichi sat there for a minute, not saying anything; he just watched her watching people pass by, unaware of anything, laughing and giggling. He noticed tears welling in her eyes, was all too tuned into the thump-tap-tap of her fingernails. Just seconds passed before he closed a hand over hers, cutting off the sound. He looked up at the bumpy ceiling, not at her; she looked out the window.

It was like she wasn't even in the same world, but he tried anyway. "Sora, I think we have to talk about it."

"No, we don't." She was so matter-of-fact, so… uncaring. It was like nothing mattered anymore, like he, Taichi, her once-best friend in the world, was now a stranger, a stranger who didn't know anything about her and couldn't help.

Well, he could. And he would.

"Sora… I know it's hard, what 'Kari said, but-"

"Look, I don't care!" Her eyes, once so warm, were scared, vulnerable… yet impassive. They gave nothing away. "Just... I don't care, alright Taichi? I don't want your help, and I don't care." He felt her hand move out from under his, and she looked down at the tabletop as the waitress came up and left their food with them. Suddenly, it was as if Taichi had lost has appetite, as if his stomach had fallen out from inside of him.

He stared down at his steaming chicken, shook his head; she was staring similarly down into her plate of fish, but they were a world, not a table length, apart.

"Sora… it isn't just that you don't care about 'Matt anymore, is it?"

She sighed. "No, that's not it at all."

It pained him, but he asked it anyway; "You know that we've changed, don't you? And when you changed… you became different… and because you don't want my help, you mean…."

"Yea, Taichi." Sora stood up delicately, placed a few bills on the table, grabbed her jacket and purse: "I don't want your help… I don't want you… so just leave me alone, all right?"

As she walked out, Taichi could do nothing but sit; sit and wonder what went wrong, when she stopped thinking of him as a friend, when she started to grow up… when she fell in love with Yamato. He knew she loved him, that much was sure… and he knew that was what was pulling them apart.

That was why the news of Hikari's baby was hitting him so hard: Sora loved Yamato, and that was what had kept her with the group; but now that Sora found out how unfaithful he had been she was ready to drop him, no matter how strong her love was: She was ready to sever all ties with everyone else who was once her friend.

Well, Taichi loved _her_, and he wasn't about to let go of her the way she had let go of Yamato.

He left his bills on top of Sora's and followed her out of the café; even so, his seconds' hesitation left her half a block ahead. "Sora! Sora, wait a minute!"

She looked back, disgust etched into her features; she looked a lifetime older, a lifetime sadder. "Taichi," she called back, "give it up!"

"No! I know what you're doing, and believe me, you haven't outgrown us yet!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" She was just standing in the rain, standing and letting him catch up to her. Raindrops fell from her hair, made her a copper beacon in the world of water. He stopped, feet ahead of her; she just shook her head.

"Sora, we've shared our whole lives, and I'm not just letting you go now because you want to run away from Yamato and the stupid problems." She tried to speak, but he took a step closer and put a wet finger to her lips. "I'm not smart – hell, you know that better than anyone – but I'm smart enough to know that you can't just run away from your problems. And you can't just ditch years and years of friendship because things get tough. Deal with it, Sora!"

Eyes flashing, she took a deep breath. "Taichi, would you shut up? You don't know how I'm feeling! You don't know what's going on! Just because your sister screwed my boyfriend you think that makes _you_ the center of everything, that you're so special. Well, guess what! This doesn't include you anymore. _Leave me alone._"

"No." He took a step closer.

Her voice trembled now. "Taichi, leave me the f—"

"I said no, dammit! I will not leave you alone, because you're just going to run away from everything! This isn't just about Hikari and Yamato, this is about all of us… this effects all of us, no matter how you see it. We all learned Yamato's not perfect; we all learned no one can stay perfect forever. Everyone but _you_ learned that, because you expect us to be perfect little kids all our lives."

He paused, took a breath; the tears in her eyes were back, but they were angry, hurt. "Well, we're not going to be like that forever, and when you're someone's friend, you accept that. Or you _should_ accept that, anyway." Sadly, he continued, "Nobody's perfect, but you just can't see… you can't see that we're worth it even if we're not perfect, can you, Sora?

"But we love you anyway, even if 'Matt screwed himself up and lost you, and you decided you don't want the rest of us. We love you: _I_ love you!" Sora just cocked her head.

With the drops running down her face, ruining her leather jacket, soaking her working-girl clothes, he didn't recognize her. This was just like the fights that had had when they were little, the tiny fights they would sweat out and make up… but somehow, it was different. They had changed, both of them, and he knew, in the end, this fight wouldn't be the same way as it always was. He reached out to touch her, make sure this was real and not some fantasy trip in his mind; but she pulled away and shook her head.

"Guess what, Taichi?"

_'Guess what, Taichi?'_ She had said that to him so many times then they were younger. He would reply, _'What, Sora?' _and she would hug him: _'You're my best friend, that's what. My best friend forever.'_

He knew, even before he spoke the words, that the answer was going to be different. "What, Sora?"

"Sometimes it doesn't matter how much you love a person. They just have to become shadows of the past, because that's what friendships do: they fade." She paused and smiled sadly, bitterly; tears were in her eyes, and it occurred to him how much he made her ready to cry. "Taichi, it doesn't matter how much you love me, or 'Matt does, or how much I supposedly love 'Matt."

She started to walk away, swinging her purse, hair limp, but turned around when Taichi called to her in a voice strangled with tears. "You never said if it matters… if you love _me_."

She couldn't smile anymore, but ducked her head and looked at the ground, shrugging her shoulders. "No," she said, softly, carefully. "That doesn't matter either."

It took Taichi half a minute to wipe his eyes free of tears, to stop the flow from coming and leaking out into the rain.

By then, she was gone.

_-_

Yamato threw his head back and raked a hand through his golden locks: sighed, frustrated. He swung the microphone around, placed it next to him on the keg. "I don't like the lyrics, guys."

"You don't like 'em cos you can't sing 'em." Tall and skinny with jet black hair, Yoshi, the bassist and the songwriter for The Teenage Wolves, always stood up to Yamato, no matter what, even when he knew Yamato was right. That was just the way they went, in terms of friendship.

"I think they're okay. Could use a little work… 'Think' is so blasé, such a _common _song…" Yamato shook his head while Keith struck a chord on his guitar and hummed for a moment. "But all in all they're fine. I don't know _why_ you can't sing them, but I think Yoshi is right."

"Damn straight I am."

Yamato shook his head. "I don't _like_ them."

Tenshi shook his red locks and readjusted his mirrored sunglasses. "Whatever. You don't have to like them, just sing them. Quit being a stick up the ass."

"Right." Yoshi filled a cup and thrust it in Yamato's direction. "Have a beer. It'll loosen you up."

Yamato took a sip as Tenshi seated himself at the drums and Kenji hit some keys. "Piano's out of tune, but if we got a keyboard we could fix that problem easily." Tenshi grunted.

Yamato stood. "Guys, look, these lyrics… 'Something might be between us… But all I can think of is you… And there's nothing in this world, you know I haven't heard… But it's strange to think, that thinking's all I do… and it's all for you.' That's _crap_."

"How the hell would you know?" Yoshi lit up a cigarette and took a swig from Yamato's cup. "What do you know about it? You always think of that one girl, what's her name, the redhead…"

"Sora?" Keith supplied.

"Yea, her."

"I don't." Yamato took his drink back but only stared into the cup.

Tenshi laughed. "Man, that's bull. Your head's always in the clouds, and she's the girl you're goin' with. You planning when you're going to sleep with her or…"

"Shit, you don't know what you're talking about. I need a cigarette," he added, holding a hand to his head.

Kenji, quiet as ever, passed his to Yamato, who took a puff and ground it out with his boot. Keith put his guitar down and sat next to Yamato; he put a hand to his shoulder. "Then what is it? You haven't been yourself lately… Is something wrong at home? Did Sora break everything off?"

"No! Nothing's wrong at home…"

Tenshi grunted again. "Takeru called yesterday. He only calls when something big's wrong. Sora's cheating, isn't she?"

"No, _I_ was!" Yamato jumped up and paced amidst catcalls from Tenshi and Yoshi. Keith looked down at the ground. "Now she's pregnant."

"Who, Sora?"

"No, Taichi's sister, you dumb-"

"Don't take it out on Tenshi, man," Yoshi said.

Yamato sat down next to Keith again, reaching for his cup, but Keith pulled it but of his reach. "Then why aren't you _with_ her right now? Or at least at home, working this out there?"

"Because I told Takeru I didn't care."

"They're your friends back there, you know. They care about this, and things are probably falling apart for them." Kenji surprised the others with his sudden proclamation.

"You guys are my friends too. I'm not going to let things fall apart for you… and besides, I really _don't_ care." Yamato picked up his microphone. "Forget I said anything about the lyrics. They're fine." Kenji and Keith exchanged a look and Tenshi moved behind the drums.

Yoshi bent down for his cigarette pack and let his black hair fall in front of his eyes. "Yamato can't go. Who else will rag us about the lyrics?"

Tenshi laughed and Keith smiled, but Kenji just shrugged.

"It's up to you, man. But all that should be worth more to you than some stupid band that'll never amount to much." Kenji downed his cup before he walked out the door.

"Problem child," Yoshi muttered.

"Girls like angst and problems, maybe he should write the lyrics…."

"So we can deal with _more_ problems…?"

Yamato felt a headache coming on.

_-_

Mimi sat on her pink comforter, stretched her legs toward her pink ceiling, and lazily reached a hand to snap off her pink alarm clock. It was midnight, but for another night she became an insomniac, and rolled on her bed, looking out the window.

It wasn't as if New York was boring – actually, it was quite the contrary! There was always something to do, someplace to go… but that was the problem, she thought. There was nothing _fun_ to do. Even shopping was beginning to lose its interest to her, and she was Mimi Tachikawa, Shopping Queen of all Japan!

There just wasn't anything to buy. She didn't _need_ anything, and no birthdays were coming up… to tell the absolute truth, she really just missed her Odiabah friends that she could call at this time at night and have a nice, long chat. She couldn't do that with her friends here; they'd never forgive her for cutting into their beauty rest for another day at Pothier's Academy.

She sighed and rolled over again. There was just nothing to do, no one to see… and she imagined the pink princess phone ringing by her bedside, that's how bored she was… bored but not tired, but _still_ dreaming of a phone ringing….

Wait just one second! It was! She snatched the receiver off the cradle: "Hi?"

"Ossu? Mimi?"

Well, she knew it was the middle of the night and she was speaking English, but really, did she seem _that_ different? "Ossu! Koushiro?"

"Hai! Mimi, we have a problem, and you have to come back _right away_."

Mimi sat up straight and clutched the receiver, careful to keep her voice down and not get hysterical; her parents were just in the next room. "Okay Koushi'-chan, who died?"

"Iie! No one Mimi!"

She let out a sigh of relief. "Then what's so important? Did you miss me…?"

She could tell he was blushing on his end of the line. "No- I mean, of course! But it isn't just that. It's Hikari."

"What's wrong with her?"

There was a pause in which Mimi felt herself preparing for the worst possible scenario and then… "Well, she's pregnant."

For a minute Mimi didn't say anything; then she laughed. "Is that all?"

"What do you _mean_, 'is that all'?"

Rolling her eyes, Mimi got to her feet and pulled a suitcase from under her bed. "Girls here – pregnant all the time! I can deal with this, even if she can't… but I need to get back right away! When's the next flight out?"

Mimi had a feeling he had anticipated this question, and was quiet for a minute while she heard the tapping of his laptop keys. He hissed, "_Yes_!" – Mimi smiled and paused her packing. "Next flight – for you – 6 a.m. It's so expensive!" He quickly relayed the price to Mimi and she shook her head.

"Not a problem. I've got to be there for 'Kari!" With a flash, she was packing and muttering all sorts of nonsense: "Hairbrush… toothbrush… underwear's always good… damn, I'll have to make due without that push-up…"

"Right. Look, Mimi, I have to go, I'll arrange a ride for you, okay?"

"Fine, right, fine. Arrange a ride, will you?"

Koushiro sighed. "Will do. I'll see you soon, all right?"

"Okay, Koushi'. Love you," she added absently before hanging up.

Koushiro stared into the receiver, afraid he would become one giant blush. "Love… you too…."


	6. Dancing

_A/N – Egads. All I can say is I suck and I need to grovel. This chapter is not uber long. It is not uber good. It is full of Daisuke-y goodness and a portrayal of Taichi that I love. But there is no excuse (except that Taichi wouldn't let me write him!). I am a horrible authoress. I'm sorry and I shall go off to cry._

_But bear in mind that I will eventually finish this even if it takes me the rest of forever! And a million billion kudos to my beta for this chapter, StrawberryGashes225. Um, yea. Or Kat, cause it's easier. insert grin_

_Now read._

Begun: late-2003

Finished: September 23, 2005 winces

"_Dancing"_

Daisuke drummed his fingers on the countertop in time to the pretty redhead across from him. "So what'll it be?" she asked irritably, shooting longing looks behind him at a tan hunk of a football player, all black hair and bright eyes. Daisuke ran his free hand through his unruly locks, hit a kink, and winced in pain.

"Um… rocky road, three scoops… marshmallow, hot fudge, and butterscotch on top – Wait! Make that into a banana split… _extra_ whipped cream." The girl almost gagged, which was typical of nineteen-year-olds trying to watch their weight, and Daisuke could already feel his stomach forming a kick line. Tough. He was depressed, and he wanted ice cream.

Lots of it.

He surveyed the crowd; although the afternoon was unusually warm for October and this was the only outdoor ice cream parlour around left open, there weren't that many people: mostly teenagers laughing with a group of friends, or little children whining and grasping the hands of their mothers, who were telling them that if they didn't behave, _darling_, no ice cream. The short soccer player felt his lips tug upwards in a grin; he knew they would get their ice cream no matter what: their moms knew, the children knew. It was part of the simple way of life.

"Rocky Road Bomb," the girl drawled, and she held out a perfectly manicured hand for his money; he grinned and flirtatiously dropped the coins into her outstretched palm, letting his fingers linger. Was she smiling now? As she turned to hit the buttons on the register, Daisuke caught sight of her bulging stomach: another pregnant girl out of wedlock. He noticed the rubber band on her ring finger and he was smart enough to know what it stood for.

He almost wished he were stupid again.

The air was warm, and he liked the idea of a stroll down the street, but knew it was impossible with the dripping ice cream he held. A quick scan of the teenagers and he saw a shock of blonde hair peeking out from under a fisher-mans' cap. He sighed; it was Takeru, probably nursing a sad and sorry vanilla dish. Maybe he had whipped cream, or _something_ interesting, but he doubted it. Takeru was always so boring.

"Seat taken?" Takeru shook his head no, and with his eyes dared Daisuke to sit; Daisuke pulled out a wicker chair and dared him back: _'Just try me. Tell me to go.'_ But Daisuke and Takeru both knew he was too polite. Daisuke almost wished for him to say something, just so he could pick a fight. When he remained quiet, Daisuke jabbed at his dish. "What're you eating?"

"Rocky road, three scoops, marshmallow, extra-extra hot fudge and strawberries, whipped cream… non-traditional banana split." He speared it with his spoon, and Daisuke noticed the revolting mixture, much like his own, was oozing. He almost grinned, but thought better of it.

"And you think you know a guy."

Takeru smiled and took a bite, waited a moment thoughtfully: "_Lion King_, right? Best movie ever."

Daisuke scowled, shrugged, and swiped Takeru's cherry from the top of his bowl. "Dunno. I liked_ Peter Pan_ better." They fell silent. In the two seconds that Takeru sneaked a peek at his watch, Daisuke fished for something to talk about, and he said the first thing that popped into his mind. "Damn, your hair looks so… soft. And clean."

Quiet reined for a moment and Daisuke slapped his forehead; Takeru smiled. "Yeah. Here's a secret; when the shampoo bottle says to wash and repeat, don't repeat. Works wonders." He stared into his melting dish of goo, and looked back up at the other boy he happened to be sitting with. "Gel for you, right?" Daisuke nodded. "Peter would be appalled."

The brunette grimaced at his feeble attempt at a joke. "Yea, but Peter didn't have to try and impress a girl who didn't like him. Wendy was just, like, 'Take me, take me now, Peter!'" Takeru laughed at his high-voiced impression while Daisuke hammed it up, fluttering his eyelids and tucking his folded hands under his chin.

In between giggles Takeru choked, "But I want the mermaids, they don't have that ugly nightdress…"

"And, oh, Tiger Lily!" the other boy finished for him. While Takeru cracked up, Daisuke spooned some more of the boy's ice cream into his dish. He really wished he had gotten himself strawberry topping.

The blonde regained his composure almost as quickly as he had lost it; he frowned at his dish and the lack of topping, but didn't say anything to Daisuke. When he reached out a plastic utensil to Daisuke's dish the goggled boy almost automatically pulled it closer to himself and growled, "My ice cream. No touch."

Takeru smiled. "Some things never change."

And they fell silent again, eating alternating bites of their melting mountains of calories in time to the ding-ding of the cash register and the chuckles of the teen at the counter. Absentmindedly, Daisuke muttered grudgingly, "You know, that's why I like Peter, and his Neverland, and his lost-but-not-wanting-to-be-found boys."

"Huh? Why's that?" Takeru looked up, ready for a serious conversation: Daisuke just scowled and shuddered at the thought. Like he would ever have a real conversation with a dork in a fisherman's hat. As if.

He just shrugged and poked one of his bruised bananas. "Things. Y'know. How they don't ever change."

"Some do."

"I wish they didn't."

"Me too."

End of conversation. The boys hit a lull again, while Takeru compulsively twitched his leg under the table and Daisuke kicked his shin, just hard enough for him to stop. "Sorry. You were moving the table."

"Huh. Sorry."

"No you're not. See this stain?" He pointed to a spot on his shirt and pretended to berate Takeru angrily. "I got this stain from you. And you aren't sorry."

Takeru took a moment; then a slow smile spread across his face. "Yeah. You're right. I'm _not_ sorry."

"Asshole."

"Jerk."

Fingers waggling and plugging his ears, Daisuke stuck out his tongue, singing softly, "I know you are, but what am I?"

The ever-calm Takeru loaded a spoon with as many toppings as he could – strawberry included – and aimed it at Daisuke. His opponent wasted no time in arming himself. For a minute they stared, not relenting, and Daisuke broke the silence with, "Okay. Truce. Where's Hikari and all them?"

"Dunno. The 'baby store', wherever that is. _Whatever_ that is."

Daisuke put in absently, "A gigantic warehouse where girly-girls coo and squeal over pink frilly things?"

"And they answer _everything_ with, 'It's so _cute_!"

They snorted in tandem and stole from each other's dishes. Taking a moment to reply, Daisuke shoved his words around a mouthful of Rocky Road: "I am so sick of babies. And women. I'm swearing off women."

"You've never even _had_ a woman," his companion pointed out. Daisuke flicked whipped cream at him.

"Don't need one to know that they're all trouble." Takeru lowered his eyes, as if hiding what he had to say. "What? You don't agree?"

He shrugged again. "Nah. Hikari's…"

"Hikari's the biggest trouble of them all, you know. I hate it but…."

"Yeah, she really is," he admitted, looking down into his melting mass and shaking his head. "But I've known her for so long… and I think I love her. She's worth the trouble. I think, anyway. There's something about her laugh, and her smile…."

"Don't tell me, man," Daisuke mumbled grimly, "I fell under the spell too."

Takeru spread his fingertips on the table, pushed aside his dish, and rested his forehead on his outstretched hands, in some bizarre fashion-of-the-blondes: Daisuke guessed it was some weird way of saying 'serenity now' and licked his spoon thoughtfully to see what his friend would say.

For a minute, it was nothing. And when Daisuke thought something was seriously wrong, Takeru picked up his head: and Daisuke saw balls of water clinging to his lashes, eyes tumultuous blue pools. "Yeah, but you didn't truly believe she loved you, somehow. You didn't believe you would get married, and have a million kids and the perfect life with her. You _didn't_," he said again, insisting.

"No, I didn't. She's beautiful as all hell, and I love her, but I knew things weren't going to happen that way. You should have known, too," he said, jabbing his spoon at Takeru's sky-blue sweater. "We're always going to love her, you know that as well as I do, and nothing's going to happen, because she's just like that. Period. Which is why I swore off women – because I know I can't love anyone else quite like her, and no one deserves that."

"You don't know anything." Funny: Daisuke never pegged Takeru as the defensive type.

"Okay, so maybe I don't. Who has a clue? But I sure as hell know I'm not going to dwell on all this. I'm going to be there for her, and that's it. That's how you should be, too."

Daisuke never made much sense before, and sitting across from Takeru, gulping ice cream but making proclamations as serenely and reliably as any modern-day Rasputin or Nostradamus, Daisuke was pleased to see the other boy at a loss for words. For Takeru it was both amazing and scary all at the same time. Daisuke made more sense than Takeru: yet it seemed too weird to admit it, to tell Daisuke he was right, and that the spiky-headed boy seemed to know Hikari better than he did. Instead, he blurted the first thing that came to his churning, confused mind.

"Well, if you ever decide to not swear off women… I've got the perfect girl for you."

Scraping the bottom of his plastic dish vigorously and shoving leftover banana in his mouth, Daisuke muttered, "Yeah? Who?"

Takeru tossed his bowl into the nearby trash bin – all those nights of basketball practise paid off – and leaned across the table. "French friend of my Grandfather. Catherine."

"Why's she so perfect for me?" Daisuke looked up from his plastic dish, empty of all traces of food.

Takeru smiled. "Her favourite movie's _Peter Pan_, too."

-

Sora looked critically into the mirror, holding up a button-down shirt on either side of her face. The yellow was so bright, so vigorous that she almost visibly shuddered; the red was fashionable, clingy and thin, and betrayed her hair, made her blend together like one thing, her eyes lost under bangs, tucked away inside her collar. Uncharacteristically, she stuck out a tongue at her reflection and dropped both articles, stepping on them for good measure.

That was regrettable. The red shirt was fine, no damage that she could see. The yellow had a heel-print on the back, showing up most in the light when she moved it, swished it back and forth to better assess her moment of weakness. That was the trouble with the bright ones: they made every little thing seem important, even when you slipped up once in a lifetime and couldn't remember what you had done for the figurative bruise: when you forgot. Even when you just wanted to forget.

She made to throw the yellow shirt aside, and picked up the red. There was a tiny hole in the sleeve from where her heel pierced the fabric, and it wasn't bothering her much: but it was just going to get bigger, create a bigger pull, if she wore it and pretended it wasn't there.

"Damn it." Nothing was ever easy, not even choosing simple clothes for a day of cash-register work. Sighing and sinking onto her bed, she tossed the red shirt beside the yellow.

She wished she had done a wash the night before. That would ultimately fix everything; just rinse her new clothes so she could wear something without minor imperfections. Now she had to choose between a hole that would just gradually get bigger and bigger until she couldn't fix it, or something with outward marks of rejection.

Suddenly, it was all too much, the trivial decisions that she had to make from day to day, the stupid situations that should have been easy; but somehow she always managed to overanalyze things, read in something that shouldn't have been there.

She had to get away.

"Sora?" She could hear her mother calling from the other room, could hear the jingle of her house keys. "I'm leaving. Come by as soon as you get dressed, I need your help today. Okay, Sora?"

Get up: get dressed: be consumed by doors and windows and perspectives like her mother, let the outer world eat you up and spit out your bones and assimilate and annex you into a culture only partially understood, never explained. She couldn't move, and she cast a helpless glance at her clothes.

How many times was she going to make the same decision, do the same thing that she hated? How many times was she going to look disdainfully at her clothes and end up with the latest fashions to go out and sell flowers that stood for hope, beauty, and comfort, to a superficial world that scorned everything she tried so many years ago to believe in?

A pair of old, torn jeans with big cuffs and holey sneakers replaced her planned suede skirt and pumps: she could wear the yellow shirt, if she could find something to go under it. Who cared that there were marks on the outside? She had forgotten all about them, and they didn't seem to matter, anyway.

Pile of abandoned laundry: dig in, rummage through. There was that ruffled blouse, a tank top, some old sequined top of Mimi's… Taichi's t-shirt. She couldn't wear that – it was _Taichi's_, and it didn't even belong in her room, much less a replacement for her old clothes.

She was over rationalizing again. She'd wear it.

It was unorthodox, and a tribute to her earlier years: this was an outfit that screamed craziness. But it was comfortable, and it was something she was finally doing that didn't conform to the rest of the world.

Without brushing her hair, locking the door, thinking of anything, she let herself fly, a soccer ball tucked under the crook of her right arm her only companion.

There was no sound at five-thirty in the morning; or, at least, no sound that Sora could discern from everything she was so used to hearing: dogs were barking, cars occasionally whizzed by, and her shoes made a steady rhythm, a _pat-pat-pat_ that she had grown accustomed to. She was always running somewhere, that theme music an insincere trademark that followed her like a ghost whenever she made her way from point A to point B, from one crumbing thing in her life to the next. Nothing was as calm as that single sound, and she hated it.

Faster: if she could break the rhythm, perhaps she could break the monotony of nothing ever being monotonous. She wanted stability, and the only thing that was never-wavering was that damn noise her shoes made. It was so stupid.

Faster: and suddenly, it wasn't _pat-pat-pat_ or even _pat-patpat-pat_, but _pat-tap-pat-tap_ as she was running on air, that unbuttoned yellow shirt streaming like some banner in a parade only she was witness to. She wasn't running anymore: she was gliding, she was coasting. And she could hear it: for the first times in years, she could hear her heart.

Then the wind came to an abrupt halt and rushed in her ears, in her lungs, in her brain. She was lightheaded: lightheaded and stopped in the middle of a soccer field, a field filled with memories of her past that refused to come out, so much like the stains on her shirt. So much like the things that stained her life now… Taichi, and Yamato, and Hikari...

Why was Taichi always first?

Her heart slowed, but she heard it, faintly. She wanted to hold onto her heart, to her identity and herself; that was one thing she didn't want to let go. In a flurry of motion, she dropped her soccer ball and kicked it towards the goal, making pretend passes and chasing something she was missing: and her heart started beating again, loud enough for her to hear it and smile.

It went on and on like that, a single form of the stability she craved. And she laughed to herself, and for once in her life she was perfectly in-control of every move she made, every feint towards the other end of the field and reaches beyond what she imagined.

And somewhere, sometime, in the lightening sky of an October morning filled with bleak hopes, Sora Takenouchi ran around and around a net and an invisible goalie, circled everything in her life that didn't have anyone blocking it: cried when she could imagine the face of an old friend with flyaway brown hair smiling in the mesh past something she couldn't see but _thought_ might have been a mop of blonde infidelities.

As the hours passed, a broken girl in her best friend's shirt and ratty sneakers came to realize that playing with ghosts and memories wasn't as bad as she anticipated it to be.

-

When Taichi was four he had wanted to be a ballet dancer.

His mother was overjoyed. She wanted to get "back in shape" and ballet was on Sunday mornings, at the same time as a mom-and-baby class she could take with Hikari. Armed with the idea of family bonding, Taichi's mother and her two children braved public transit to sign up at Miss Kiki's for the hour long lessons. The night before classes started Taichi excitedly practiced twirling and fell asleep by the front door in his new blue tights.

Sunday dawned, and Taichi tried desperately to pull his mother out the door at five in the morning. She sat him down, calmly explained that Hikari had caught a cold and they wouldn't be going, and made him cinnamon toast with the crusts cut off. Taichi cried into his napkin.

After three hours of listening to non-stop sobbing, Taichi's father appeared from his room in a bathrobe and sneakers, hair disheveled. With a sour glance at his wife, Mr. Yagami took Taichi's arm in one hand, bag in the other, and marched him straight to Miss Kiki's, only fifteen minutes late for the 8 o'clock class.

There were five other children at the _barre_: four tiny, pig-tailed blondes and a scowling redhead. The blondes looked on in amazement at the boy joining the class and Miss Kiki had him take a place by the redhead. He smiled; she stuck out her tongue.

Taichi ignored her and turned his attention on the teacher.

First position; he turned his feet the wrong way. Second position; he wobbled and caught himself on the _barre_. Third position; he accidentally spun in a circle and fell at the feet of the redhead. While the other girls tittered she grinned and held out a hand. "I'm Sora. I hate girls, don't you?"

He dazedly nodded and when she asked to use the restroom he followed her lead. For the rest of the morning they laughed and played with a soccer ball she had stowed in her dance bag. Taichi had his mother call Sora's father the minute he got home.

Instead of dancing, the brunette spent the next weekend with Sora burying their tights, and the Sunday after that they were chasing each other on the soccer field, ripping up clumps of dirt and grass with their cleats.

Lying under trees, staring out at the field of spongy green he and Sora used to skim effortlessly, Taichi smiled sadly. He could almost see her smiling; he could almost hear her laughing. When he closed his eyes he could almost feel their first kiss, accidental and sweet, when fourteen-year-old Sora helped him off the ground. Taichi had been tripped, and Sora had been glaring at the other team members as she held out her hand, held out her hand like she always had. And she had turned back to ask if he was all right, and Taichi misjudged the distance, and they had kissed.

Their first kiss. Their only kiss.

It hurt him too much and when he opened his eyes she was there.

He heard the birds overhead and he heard the cars and their horns. Then he tuned everything out and all he heard was the sound of her feet on the grass, the sound of her soccer ball meeting its mark every time. The swish of the net. Her heartbeat.

Taichi's eyes traced her movements, outlined everything she did and strayed behind, admiring her footprints in the dew-stained grass. He noticed how his shirt hung on her, loose and long; he noticed the hairs that stuck in sweaty tendrils to her cheekbones. He noticed all this and still it was her heartbeat that captivated him, the memorization of a rhythm he could barely hear.

And he stood. And he felt the ground under his feet and the sun on his shoulders, darting through his hair – he felt the tremor of courage and he felt the rustle of leaves. He was still listening to her heart and he didn't hear the leaves but maybe she did. Or maybe she just knew, like she always used to know.

It was like she was rooted to the spot. He knew she saw him, but it was like she was looking through him. He felt solidly real, but maybe this really was all a dream and he was dreaming she was blind. Or maybe this _was_ real and she really couldn't see anymore. He wasn't sure, and he didn't dare move.

But then she did, and he knew she knew. Of something. Of anything.

The first fateful step seemed to stretch across the entire field. She commanded the sky and the grass and the wind even with her broken dreams. He felt she could command anything and everything with her simple presence, and movement was too much. _This_ was Sora. His shirt and her sneakers and her wild, flyaway hair. And movement.

And it was too much.

He felt his knees hit the ground and sogginess seep through his jeans. Then she was kneeling in front of him like some kind of reverence, and her hand was dancing patterns and pirouettes across his face. Fingers fluttered – across cheekbones and jaw, his lips and the laugh lines that made him look so much older. He closed his eyes. They were too tired to stay open.

Taichi felt her slap, and he felt her hitting him, on his arms, on his chest. He wanted to tell her to close her fist. She had always made better contact that way. Then he heard her ragged sobs and she let him go.

"If you're real then why won't you say anything? Why aren't you holding me? Doesn't it hurt?" He didn't know what she meant so he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Yea. It hurts. But I won't hold you if it doesn't matter."

When he opened his eyes she was staring at him blankly, and she was truly seeing him. There was nothing to do, but it was his turn to hold out a hand, and so he did, shaky and shy and innocent like that kiss that shouldn't have been but was. She took it, and brought it to her lips, and moved it to her waist. He felt the small of her back and this time she didn't pull away.

"Everything matters, Taichi. Everything."

She moved his head against her chest and held him tight, and suddenly he felt like he was four again.


End file.
